112
Your law-contemning kinsmen ride,
And burn and spoil the Border-side;
And ill beseems your rank and birth
To make your towers a flemens-firth[1].
We claim from thee William of Deloraine,
That he may suffer march-treason pain[2]:
It was but last St Cuthbert's even
He pricked to Stapleton on Leven,
Harried[3] the lands of Richard Musgrave,
And slew his brother by dint of glaive;
Then since a lone and widowed Dame
These restless riders may not tame,
Either receive within thy towers
Two hundred of my master's powers,
Or straight they sound their warison[4],
And storm and spoil thy garrison;
And this fair boy, to London led,
Shall good King Edward's page be bred."
And burn and spoil the Border-side;
And ill beseems your rank and birth
To make your towers a flemens-firth[1].
We claim from thee William of Deloraine,
That he may suffer march-treason pain[2]:
It was but last St Cuthbert's even
He pricked to Stapleton on Leven,
Harried[3] the lands of Richard Musgrave,
And slew his brother by dint of glaive;
Then since a lone and widowed Dame
These restless riders may not tame,
Either receive within thy towers
Two hundred of my master's powers,
Or straight they sound their warison[4],
And storm and spoil thy garrison;
And this fair boy, to London led,
Shall good King Edward's page be bred."
