He sett the King on a palfrey,
Himselfe upon a steede;
He tooke him by the bridle-rayne,
Towards London he can him lead.
LVII
And when to London that he came,
The King from Ffrance was come home,
And there unto the King of Scotts
He sayd these words anon.—
LVIII
‘How like you my shepards and my millers?
My priests with shaven crownes?’—
‘By my fayth, they are the sorest fighters
That ever I mett on the ground.
LIX
‘There was never a yeaman in merry England
But was worth a Scottish knight.’—
‘Ay, by my troth,’ said King Edward, and laughe,
‘For you fought all against the right.’
LX
But now the prince of merry England,
Worthilye under his sheelde,
Hath taken captive the King of France,
At Poytiers in the field.