þou scabbed Scotte, þi nek þi hotte, þe deuelle it breke,
It salle be hard to here Edward, ageyn þe speke.
He salle þe ken, our lond to bren, & werre bigynne,
þou getes no þing, but þi riuelyng, to hang þer inne.
þe sete of þe Scone is driuen ouer Done, to London led,
A hard wele telle, þat bagelle & belle be filchid & fled.
NOW tels Pers, on his maners, a grete selcouth,
He takis witnes, þat it soth es, of Merlyn mouth.
A wondere were, tuo watres þer er togidir gon, [De unione Scociæ & Angliæ, secundum dicta Petri [L. de.] & Brid|lingtone.]
& tuo kyngdames, with tuo names, now er on.
þe ildes aboute alle salle loute vnto þat lond,
Of whilk Edward is justise hard, þat so þan bond.
He sais he has wonen, & þorgh ronnen, many landes.
Alle salle þei loute tille him for doute, & dede of handes.
He sais Scotland is in his hand for now & ay,
At myn inwitte it is not ȝit alle at our fay.
He sais, Merlyn, in his deuyn, of him has said,
þat þre regions, in his bandons, salle be laid,
Scotland & Wales, þise er his tales, þis lond al on
Was Brutus wayn, & cald Bretayn, first Albion.
I calle þerto, it is no so, þei er o sundere.
þat he has spoken, it is now broken, with mykelle wondere.
A prophecie sais he salle die, & whan he is ouere,
After þat day Scotlond may haf gode recouere.
ȝe haf wele herd, þe Brus Roberd was Scottis kyng,
Wele tuenti ȝere in gode powere mayntend þat þing,
Als he it left ȝit wille þei eft rise fulle austere.
It is not alle brouht to stalle for no powere,
