ryall,
Heil rulere of Remes withoute lettyng,
Heil flour of knyghts now over all.

Here is come youre citee all,
Yow to worchepe and to magnyfye,
To welcome yow, bothe gret and small,
With yow everemore to lyve and dye.
Grauntmercy, Sires, oure kyng gan say;
And toward London he gan ride;
This was upon seynt Clementys day,
They wolcomed hym on every syde.

The lordes of Fraunce, thei gan say then,
Ingelond is nought as we wen,
It farith be these Englisshmen,
As it doth be a swarm of ben;
Ingland is like an hive withinne,
There fleeres makith us full evell to wryng,
Tho ben there arrowes sharpe and kene,
Thorugh oure harneys they do us styng.

To London brigge thanne rood oure kyng,
The processions there they mette hym ryght,
'Ave Rex Anglor,' their gan syng,
'Flos mundi,' thei seyde, Goddys knyght.
To London brigge whan he com ryght,
Upon the gate ther stode on hy,
A gyaunt that was full grym of syght,
To teche the Frensshmen curtesye.

And at the drawe brigge, that is faste by,
To toures there were upright;
An antelope and a lyon stondyng hym by,
Above them seynt George oure lady knyght,
Besyde hym many an angell bright,
'Benedictus' thei gan synge,
'Qui venit in nomine domin.' goddes knyght,
'Gracia Dei' with yow doth sprynge.

Into London thanne rood oure kyng,
Full goodly there thei gonnen hym grete;
Thorugh out the town thanne gonne they syng,
For joy and merthe y yow behete;
Men and women for joye they alle,
Of his comyn thei weren so fayn,
That the Condyd bothe grete and smalle,
Ran wyn ich on as y herde sayn.

The tour of Cornhill that is so shene,
I may well say now as y knowe,
It was full of Patriarkes alle be dene,
'Cantate' thei songe upon a rowe;
There bryddes thei gon down throwe,
An hundred there flewe aboughte oure kyng,
'Laus ejus' bothe hyghe and lowe
'In ecclesia sanctorum' thei dyd syng.

Unto the Chepe thanne rood oure kyng;
To the Condyt whanne he com tho,
The XII apostelys thei gon syng,
'Benedict. anima domino'
XII kynges there were on a rowe,
They knelyd doun be on asent,
And obles aboughte oure kyng gan throwe,
And wolcomyd hym with good entent.

The Cros in Chepe verrament,
It was gret joy it for to beholde;
It was araied full reverent,
With a castell right as God wolde,
With baners brighte beten with gold.
And angelys senssyd hym that tyde;
With besaunts riche many a fold,
They strowed oure kyng on every syde.

Virgynes out of the castell gon glyde,
Fo