The Song of Lewes

By Anonymous Anonymous
   Sitteth alle stille and herkneth to me!
   The King of Alemaigne, by mi leaute,
Thritty thousand pound askede he
For to make the pees in the countre—
And so he dude more.

   Richard, thah thou be ever trichard,
   Tricchen shalt thou nevermore.

Richard of Alemaigne, whil that he wes king,
He spende all his tresour upon swiving.
Haveth he nout of Walingford o ferling!
Let him habbe ase he brew—bale to dring—
Maugre Windesore.

   Richard, thah thou be ever trichard,
   Tricchen shalt thou nevermore.

The King of Alemaigne wende do full well:
He saised the mulne for a castel;
With hare sharpe swerdes he grounde the stel—
He wende that the sailes were mangonel
To helpe Windesore.

   Richard, thah thou be ever trichard,
   Tricchen shalt thou nevermore.

The king of Alemaigne gederede his host,
Makede him a castel of a mulne post,
Wende with his prude and his muchele bost,
Broughte from Alemaigne mony sory ghost
To store Windesore.

   Richard, thah thou be ever trichard,
   Tricchen shalt thou nevermore.

By God that is aboven ous, he dude muche sin
That lette passen over see the Erl of Warin:
He hath robbed Engelond, the more and the fen,
The gold and the selver, and iboren henne,
For love of Windesore.

   Richard, thah thou be ever trichard,
   Tricchen shalt thou nevermore.

Sire Simon de Montfort hath swore by his chin,
Hevede he now here the Erl of Warin,
Shulde he never more come to his inn,
Ne with sheld, ne with spere, ne with other gin,
To help of Wyndesore.

   Richard, thah thou be ever trichard,
   Tricchen shalt thou nevermore.

Sire Simon de Montfort hath swore by his top,
Hevede he now here Sir Hue de Bigot,
All he shulde equite here twelfmoneth scot—
Shulde he never more with his fot pot
To helpe Windesore.

   Richard, thah thou be ever trichard,
   Tricchen shalt thou nevermore.

Be thee luef, be thee loth, Sire Edward,
Thou shalt ride sporeles o thy liar
All the righte way to Dovereward—
Shalt thou nevermore breke foreward,
And that reweth sore.

Richard, thah thou be ever trichard,
Tricchen shalt thou nevermore.

Edward, thou dudest ase a shreward,
Forsoke thine eme’s lore.

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Originally appeared in Poetry magazine.

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