Siþen was neuer non of arte so þat sped,
Ne bifore bot on, þat in Cantebrigge red.
Robert mad his fest, for he was þore þat tyme,
& he sauh alle þe gest, þat wrote & mad þis ryme.
Sir Alisander was hie dene of Glascow,
& his broþer Thomas ȝed spiand ay bi throw,
Where our Inglis men ware not in clerke habite,
& non wild he spare, bot destroied also tite.
þorgh þe kyng Robyn þei ȝede þe Inglis to spie,
Here now of þer fyn þam com for þat folie.
A SERGEANT of Galweye, his name was Makedowel,
On Askwednesday, whan messe was don ilk del,
Sursante he þam mette, als þei fro kirke cam,
þer way he þam withsette, smertly þore þam nam.
He did þam fettre wele, streitly & right hard,
& sent þam to Carlele vnto kyng Edward.
þe kyng wele paied was, he sette justise of lawe,
Demed þe Brus Thomas boþe to hang & drawe,
Sir Alisander þe same, & after þer hangyng,
Boþe bi o name hede þam bad þe kyng.
¶ þe pape Boniface wrote in his sexte boke, [Nota bene.]
What clerke felle to haf grace, for what cas men him toke,
Whilk clerke, for what trespas, where men suld him saue,
& where he taken was, what habite on suld haue,
& if he were atteynt, als thef þorgh felonie,
Of suilk þe pape mas pleynt, & writes to þe clergie;
& if þe decretal ne were ordeynd for þis,
þe clerkes ouer alle ne rouht to do amys.
