Britain's Honour.  
In the two Valiant Welshmen, who fought against fiftenne thousand Scots, at their now coming to England passing over Tyne; whereof one was killed manfully fighting against his foes, and the other being taken Prisoner, is now upon relaxations come to York to his majesty.  
The tune is, How now Mars &c.  


YOu noble Britain's bold and hardy,  
That justly are derived from Brute,  
Who were in battle near found t●rdy,  
But still will fight for your repute;  
'gainst any he,  
What e'er a' be,  
Now for your credit list to me,  
Two welshmen's valour you shall see.   

These two undaunted Trojan worthies,  
(Who prized honour more than life,)  
With royal Charles, who in the North is,  
To salve (with care) the ulcerous strife;  
Which frantic sots.  
With conscious spots,  
Bring on their souls; these two hot shots,  
Withstood full fifteen thousand Scots.   

The manner how shall be related.  
That all who are King Charles his friends  
May be with courage animated,  
Unto such honourable ends;  
These cavaliers,  
Both Musquetiers,  
Could never be possessed with fears,  
Though the Scots Army nigh appears.   

Within their works near Tyne entrenched  
Some of our sovereign's forces lay;  
When the Scots Army came, they flinched,  
And on good cause retired away;  
Yet blame them not,  
For why the Scot,  
Was five to one, and came so hot,  
Nothing by staying could be got.   

Yet these two Martialists so famous,  
One to another thus did say;  
Report hereafter shall not shame us,  
Let Welshmen scorn to run away;  
Now say our King▪  
Let's do a th●●.  
Whereof the world shall loudly ring  
Unto the grace of our offspring.   

The vaunting Scot shall know what valour,  
Doth in a Britains breast reside:  
They shall not bring us any dolour;  
But first we'll tame some of their pride.  
What though we die,  
Both thee and I?  
Yet this we know assuredly,  
In life and death there's victory.    

The second part, to the same tune.  

With this unbounded resolution,  
These branches of Cadwallader;  
To put their wills in execution,  
Out of their trenches would not stir,  
But all night lay,  
And would not stray,  
Out of the work, and o'th' next day,  
The Scots passed o'er in battle array.   

The hardy Welshmen that had vowed,  
Like Jonathan unto his David;  
Unto the Scots themselves they showed.  
And so courageously behaved  
Themselves that they  
Would ne'er give way,  
But in despite o'th' foe would stay,  
For nothing could their minds dismay.   

Even in the jaws of death and danger  
Where fifteen thousand was to two,  
They still stood to't and (which is stranger)  
More than themselves they did subdue  
Courage they cried;  
Let's still abide,  
Let Britain's fame be dignified,  
When two the Scottish hosts defi'de.   

At length (when he two Scots had killed)  
One of them bravely lost his life,  
His strength and courage few excelled;  
Yet all must yield tothth' fatal knife.  
The other he,  
Having slain three,  
Did Prisoner yield himself to be,  
But now again he is set free.   

This is the story of these victors,  
Who as they sprung o'th' Troyans' race,  
So they did show like, two young Hectors;  
Unto their enemy's disgrace;  
Hereafter may,  
Times children say,  
Two valiant Welshmen did hold play,  
With fifteen thousand Scots that day.   

His majesty in Princely manner,  
To give true virtue its reward;  
The man surviving more to honour,  
Hath in particular regard.  
Thus valiant deeds,  
Reward succeeds,  
And from that branch, which valour breeds,  
All honourable fruit proceeds.   

Now some may say (I do confess it)  
That all such desperate attempts  
Spring only from fool hardiness▪ yet  
Who ever this rare deed exempts,  
From valour true,  
(if him I knew)  
I would tell him (and 'twere but due)  
Such men our sovereign hath too few.   

For surely 'tis a rare example,  
Who now will fear to fight with ten,  
When these two lads (with courage ample)  
Opposed fifteen thousand men,  
Then heigh for Wales,  
Scots strike your sails,  
For all your projects nought prevails,  
True Britain's scorn to turn their tails.   M. P. 
FINIS.    

London Printed by E. G. and are to be sold at the horse-shoe in Smithfield.