to saye:
The mair was redy and mette hym there,
With all the craftes in good araye,
It is ful soth what nede to swere.
_Wot ye right well, &c._

Heyl, comely kyng, the mair gan say,
The grace of God now be with the,
And speed the well in thy jornay,
Almyghti God in Trinite,
And graunt the evermore the degre,
To felle thin enemys bothe nyght and day;
Amen, seyde alle the comunalte,
Graunt mercy, sire, oure kyng gan say.
_Wot ye right well, &c._

To seynt Poulys he held the way;
He offred there full worthyly:
Fro thens to the quen that same day,
And tok his leve ful hendely;
And thorugh out London thanne gan he ryde;
To seynt George he com in hye,
And there he offred that iche tyde,
And other lordys that weren hym bye.
_Wot ye right well, &c._

And fro thens to Suhthampton, unto that strond,
For sothe he wold no longer there dwell:
XV hundryd shippys redy there he fond,
With riche sayles and heye topcastell.
Lordys of this lond, oure kyng gan there sell,
For a milion of gold as y herd say,
Therfore there truayle was quyte them full well,
For they wolde a mad a queynte aray.
_Wot ye right well, &c._

Therfore song it was wailaway;
There lyvys they lost anon right in hast:
And oure kyng with riall aray,
To the se he past.
And landyd in Normandye, at the water of Sayn,
At the pyle of Ketecaus, the sothe y yow say,
On oure lady even, the assumpcion, the thirdde yer of hys rayn,
And boldely hys baner there he gan display.
_Wot ye right well, &c._

And to the town of Harflew there he tok the way,
And mustred his meyne faire before the town,
And many other lordys I dar well say,
With baners brighte and many penoun:
And there they pyght there tentys a down,
That were embroudyd with armys gay;
First, the kynges tente with the crown,
And all othere lordes in good aray.
_Wot ye right well, &c._

My brother Clarence, oure kyng gan say,
The tother syde shull ye kepe,
With my doughter and hire maydyns gay,
To wake the Frensshmen of there slepe.
London he seyde shall with here mete,
My gonnys shall lyn upon this grene,
For they shall play with Harflete,
A game at tynes as y wene.
_Wot ye right well, &c._

Mine engynes that bethe so kene,
They shull be sett be syde this hill,
Over all Harflewe that they may sene,
For to loke if they play well.
Go we to game be Godys grace,
Myne children ben redy everych on,
Every greet gonne that there was,
In his mouth he hadde a ston.
_Wot ye right well, &c._

Th