Our English archers bent their bowes
Shortly and anon;
They shot over the Scottish oast
And scantly toucht a man.
XLVII
‘Hold downe your hands,’ sayd the Bishop of Durham,
‘My archers good and true’!
The second shootè that they shott,
Full sore the Scots it rue.
XLVIII
The Bishop of Durham spoke on hie,
That both partyes might heare:
‘Be of good cheere, my merrymen all,
They flyen and changen their cheere!’
XLIX
But as they saidden, see they didden,
They fell on heapès hie;
Our Englishmen laid on with their bowes,
As fast as they might drie.
L
The King of Scotts in a study stood
Amongst his companye;
An arrow stoke him thoro’ the nose,
And thoro’ his armorye.