In battle or encounter it was never recorded—that so many people were destroyed so soon,—or thus turned their backs without making any defence.—May the crows have the bodies, and the devils the souls—of all that thus have conducted the wars!—For of this part there was never once,—within town or without, a good action proved,—but only prowling and robbing the towns,—burning holy church, killing the clergy,—may God be praised who has revenged it at Dunbar!—The earls who had done the wicked deeds,—as soon as they knew and were aware—of the defeat of their kindred,—have delivered the castle to the English on their return,—and without conditions obliged themselves—to the King Sir Edward, to do his will.—The king next day came there to his baronage,—the prisoners who are taken they have presented to him,—three earls, three barons, three bannerets,—and besides them twenty-eight dubbed knights,—with five score gentlemen who were found there;—two clerks and two Picards are counted among them.—The Earls are sent to the Tower of London.—Some of the barons are associated with them;—the others are sent to different castles,—two by two mounted together on a hackney;—some with their feet fettered in carts;—in such kind of dance their game ended!—Throughout England in every country—people will always talk of their pride—as long as the world lasts, people have scoffed at their action.—For the Scots—I reckon for sots,—and wretches unwary;—ill luck—to give blows—drew them to Dunbar.
Now it is time to tell the plot—of the twelve peers of Scotland, who thought surely—to destroy England, I will just tell you how.—When the King of France, after the breaking off—of that marriage which was often talked of,—would retain Gascony by abatement,—and King Edward sent thither his people,—and re-took a part by war from the French;—King John of Scotland, by the enticement—of earls and barons, and of clerks also,—sent to France by common agreement—the bishop of St. Andrew’s, by whose procurement—the brother of the King of France, namely, Charles,—made an alliance for the son of the King of Scotland,—who was to marry his daughter, and afterwards by oath—the French and Scots should go conjointly—into England to destroy from the Tweed to Kent;—and that the King of France should land,—when he would, suddenly in the Tweed,—forthwith he should suddenly take all Northumberland,—and then all the land without hindrance;—that he should not leave a man alive, neither father nor kindred.—The traitorous negotiation being entered upon without completion,—the seneschal of Scotland is come in without more ado—to the King Sir Edward, with all that belongs to him,—earls and barons and bishops fully,—are come to his peace all at his desire.—King John and his son, without land or tenement,—are led to London to support judgment.—Now King Edward possesses Scotland entirely,—like Albanac had it at the beginning.—The Welsh and Irish—to our English—aid doughtily.—Whereby the Scots—have through ours—imprisonment;—and that land—by this war—is lost for ever.—The Welsh are gone home,—and the Irish returned—with sail and with wind.—You English remain there;—you ought to pray devoutly—that the Lord God forbid,—to take Aman into favour again,—and exile Mardocheus,—in royal parliament.—Edward, amid all your accusations,—please to remember the burnings,—of the temple of God Almighty,—at Hexham, where that host—of the cross made roast,—the figure of human salvation.—Herod strikes there, the child dies,—in this anguish Rachael weeps;—Edward, wreak vengeance for it.—Thou wilt be judge, judge according to right;—let him hang who ought to hang,—the law wills it certainly.—The punishment is hard and cruel,—for it is everlasting,—for all who give judgment otherwise.—Now chastise your enemies,—that they may not stir again—in a new mischief.—We ought to have mercy;—but that ought not to avail a traitor,—there the law suspends it.—For love nor for pence,—a king ought not to spare,—so as not to judge equally.—If the king will serve God,—it is right he should maintain the law;—if he does not, he sins and errs very much.—In truth when John Baliol—left his book at school,—he was too ill deceived.—¶ For bale bred in his book,—when he lost what he took—with the kingdom;—for he has over-hopped,—his tippet is tipped,—his tabard is empty.—He laughed while it pleased him,—his pack (?) is pierced through,—he thought he was loyal;—....
Pride in a country, is like a nettle in the garden,—which overgrows the rose and pushes it back;—so it is with Baliol, that, by him the twelve peers—are fallen down for their wicked proceeding,—he has lost his realm, and is gone to lodge—in the Tower of London, at another’s expense.—The King Sir Edward makes guard enough;—the Earl John de Warenne is chief justice,—and Henry de Percy has Galway to rule;—at Berwick-upon-Tweed is established the exchequer,—and Hugh de Cressingham is treasurer there;—and Walter de Amundisham is chancellor.—The King to nourish the peace causes his bench to be proclaimed there,—and five judges to govern the law.—Sheriffs and bailiffs are established for the need—of the English who could and would judge according to right.—The guard is established so good and so perfect,—neither Fleming nor Frenchman henceforth shall have the power,—to enter into Scotland, unless it be for commerce.—Of all those of most account who were to remain—the homages are taken, the King makes them swear—that they will be loyal by land and by sea.—They who began the war and the advisers of it—are sent beyond the Trent to repose in the south,—so long as the war lasts in Gascony.—Thus ought the lord to chastise his men.—The bishop of Durham, who did much worthy of praise,—in conquering the land was always the first,—were it not for his activity and boldness of heart,—things now finished would be to begin.—The twelve peers—go away to the friars—to confess them,—the judgment—which awaits them—they may fear.—Kambynoy—holds himself all coy,—he will not help.—The sorcery—of Albania—cannot avail.—Andrew sleeps,—or he is dead—at the monastery.—What will the Scot do,—when he will hear—the King talk,—at St. Edmund’s,—and of treason—accuse—earl and baron,—who by burning—destroys the altar?—He can go no further,—there he must—stand like a thief;—and by judgment—King Edward—determine.—And so may man teach—the Scots to run,—and begin war.—To some is left nothing—but his torn riveling—to hop therein.—Their King’s seat of Scone—is driven over down,—and led to London.—In town I heard tell,—the ... and the bell—are stolen and fled.
O God! how often Merlin said truth—in his prophecies! As you read,—now are the two waters come into one,—which have been separated by great mountains; and one realm is made out of two different kingdoms,—which used to be governed by two kings.—Now are the islanders all brought together,—and Albania is rejoined to its regalities,—of which King Edward is proclaimed lord;—Cornwall and Wales are in his power,—and Ireland the great is at his will.—There is no longer any king of all the countries—except King Edward who has thus visited them.—Arthur had never so fully the feudalities.—Henceforth he has nothing to do but to look after his goings,—to conquer his inheritance from the King of France,—and then to carry the cross where Jesus Christ was born.—His enemies,—thank God!—are chastised;—they are all vanquished,—and taken like rats,—and bound.—He has run about—and fought—quite enough,—with two kings—at one time,—and overthrown them;—the one on this side—now goes to that side—with his baronage.—John and Thomas—will not leave him—unassisted;—Cuthbert comes to him,—who holds with him—in the combats.—In God, I tell you,—Merlin of him—prophesied;—three regions—in his possession—shall be gained.—Let not be blamed—the prophecy—sinfully;—Lord God Almighty,—at St. Edmund’s at the parliament—give him counsel.—And on false Philip of France—by thy virtue to have vengeance,—that he may never be advanced—for his mere falseness.
To the borough of St. Edmund, on the day which was fixed,—are come the bishops, with the company—of laymen and clerks, of whom the king prays—aid and courtesy of the goods of holy church,—as they had promised before in the abbey—of Westminster, whereby the king trusts to it—for the help of his war which is not finished.—Earls and barons, with the knights,—for themselves and for the people grant in aid—the tenth penny, and for the merchants—the seventh part for the aid of his treasury.—And the archbishop, who holds the primacy—of the see of Canterbury, studies for an answer,—and explains to the king by two bishops—the condition of holy church, which is much impoverished.—The bishop afterwards goes to the king and says,—“Sire, for God’s sake, do not grieve yourself at all about that,—for all holy church, I certify thee,—under God there is no soul alive in the world—who has over holy church power or mastery,—except the pope of Rome, who holds the vicary—which St. Peter the apostle had in keeping.—The pope is our head, he keeps and rules us,—and he has made a statute which binds us closely,—on privation of rent and of prelacy,—that neither tenth, nor twentieth, nor half, nor part—none of us give to thee or to any other,—without his commandment and allowance,—upon it he solemnly excommunicates and curses—every son of a mother that by lordship—injures holy church, which may God help in its freedom!”—“Sir clerk,” said the King, “thou hast talked folly;—promise is debt due, if faith be not forgotten;—but if I saw thee here in possession of the bull—as well as all the others, by the son of Mary!—you should not be relieved of this aid.”
“Sire,” said the Archbishop, “very willingly—thee as our lord we will all aid—with the leave of the pope, if thou wilt send to him—by one of thy clerks with our messenger,—who could relate to him thy condition and ours;—and according to the message which the pope shall send us back,—we will as far as our abilities go courteously aid thee.”—“Sir clerk,” says the King again, “I have no need—for thee to advise me to consult the pope;—but if thou wilt have respite in this case,—cause thy clerks to assemble when thou wilt,—talk to them of the promise, and treat heartily of it;—after St. Hilary’s day come to Westminster,—and make the answer without more talk!”—“Sire,” said the Archbishop, “for the sake of God and St. Richard!—please to command here and there thy people,—who are thy agents for the twelfth penny,—that they cause to be molested neither us nor our tenants,—nor tax our temporalities along with the layman.”—“Sir,” answers the King, “you need not fear it,—for they shall do neither well nor ill to none of thy power.—Nevertheless, fair Sir, I pray and require,—that throughout thy diocese thou commandest to pray—for me and mine, and to thank God,—who has done largely for us in our recent affairs.”—The Archbishop grants it, and does his duty.—A little before this time returned the treasurer—Walter de Langton, who had passed the sea—with the cardinal, to treat of the peace.—The answer which they bring no man can know,—except those of the council who dare not reveal it.—Messengers afterwards came to announce—to the King Sir Edward a form of arranging—the strife of Gascony, and to cause him to agree—with King Philip, without further war,—as the cardinals had caused it to be ordained.—King Edward forthwith sent back—Walter de Langton and Hugh le Despenser,—and John de Berwick, a clerk and a valiant knight.—May God conduct them there, and bring them well back again!
Of the barons of Scotland, at this parliament—reason was not rendered, nor judgment given.—The King is so courteous, so full of pity,—and of so great mercy, I believe certainly—that his mercy will be the saving—of those who have fully deserved death,—by their deeds attainted of felony.—The great pity of heart which he has often had—upon the felons of Wales, every body talks of it;—when he was most occupied for his advancement,—they made war upon him, and cause a diversion,—whereby he was obliged to leave his goings elsewhere.
After the day of St. Hilary, when the King thought (to hold)—parliament at London, as he had ordained,—news came to him by him who was then—come from Cambrai, and announced to him—that the talk of peace was made with no intention of coming to an end.—Wherefore King Edward remained and prepared—by sea and by land that he might not be betrayed;—at Westminster he collected his people—to treat about what aid the clergy should give him.—The Lord of Canterbury held himself very rigid on this matter,—he vowed to St. Thomas for him and his parish,—that no one of his church should be any more taxed,—nor placed in servage as long as he lived,—without command of the pope, who ought to govern them.—The Lord of Lincoln agreed to this,—Bishop Oliver, who was not used to bend.—The King was so enraged against the clergy,—that he commanded them to be judged out of his peace.—But now afterwards he repealed that decree.—This did those bishops who willingly consented—to aid their lord whereby to recover his right,—to defend holy church from shame and loss.—The elect of York, who desired peace,—said that willingly as far as concerned him—he would give the fifth penny wherewith to defend holy church.—Not a soul spoke there of the caitiff Scots:—they remained in keeping in the same care,—as they were before, Dunbar caused them vexation.—For there were they burnt ...—he ... them thither,—and drove to dote.—For Scots at Dunbar—had at their ...—shame of their note.—Never were dogs there—hurled out of....