CXXXI

He purvey’d him an hundred bows,
The stringès well y-dight,
An hundred sheaf of arrows good,
The heads burnish’d full bright;

CXXXII

And every arrow an ellè long,
With peacock well y-dight[788],
Y-notchèd all with white silvèr;
It was a seemly sight.

CXXXIII

He purvey’d him an hundred men,
Well harness’d in that stead,
And himself in that samè suit,
And clothed in white and red.

CXXXIV

He bare a lancegay[789] in his hand,
And a man led his mail[790],
And roden[791] with a lightè song
Unto Barnèsdale.

CXXXV

As he went at a bridge there was a wrestling,
And there tarrièd was he,
And there was all the best yeomen,
Of all the west countrỳ.