Classic Poem

Skottes out of Berwik and of Abirdene,
at the Bannok burn war ye to kene!
Thare slogh ye many sakles, als it was sene,
and now has king Edward wroken it I wene:
It es wrokin I wene, wele wurth the while;
war yit with the Skottes, for thai er ful of glle.

Whare er ye, Skottes of Saint Johnes toune?
The boste of yowre baner es betin all doune;
when ye bosting will bede, sir Edward es boune
for to kindel yow care and crak yowre crowne:
he has crakked yowre croune, were worth the while;
schame bityde the Skottes, for thai er full of gile.

Skottes of Striflin war steren and stout;
of God ne of gude men had that no dout.
Now have thai, the pelers, priked obout,
bot at the last sir Edward rifild thair rout:
he has rifild thaire rout, wele wurth the while,
bot ever er thai under, bot gaudes and gile.

Rughfute riveling, now kindels thi care,
berebag with thi boste, thi biging es bare;
fals wretche and forsworn, whider wiltou fare?
Busk the unto Brig and abide thare:
thare wretche saltou won and wery the while;
thi dwelling in Donde es done for thi gile.

The Skotte gase in Burghes and betes the stretes,
all thise Inglis men harmes he hetes;
fast makes he his mone to men that he metes,
bot fone frendes he findes that his bate betes:
fune betes his bale, wele wurth the while;
he uses all threting with gaudes and gile.

Bot many man thretes and spekes ful ill
that sum tyme war better to be stane still.
The Skot in his wordes has wind for to spill,
for at the last Edward sall have al his will:
he had his will at Berwik, wele wurth the while;
Skottes broght him the kayes, bot get for thaire gile.