XXI
Then bespake a squire of Northumberland,
Richard Witherington was his name;
‘It shall never be told in South England
To King Harry the Fourth for shame.
XXII
‘I wot you bin great lordès two,
I am a poor squire of land;
[Yet] I’ll ne’er see my captain fight on a field
And stand myself and look on.
But while that I may my weapon wield
I’ll not fail, both heart and hand.’
XXIII
That day, that day, that dreadful day!—
The first fytte[1098] here I find:
An you’ll hear any more o’ the hunting of Cheviot,
Yet there is more behind.
Fytte II
XXIV
The Englishmen had their bows y-bent,
Their hearts were good enow;
The first of arrows that they shot off
Seven score spearmen they slew.