A ballad of the scottish king.  
 
King jamy/ jomy your. joy is all go  
ye summoned our king why died ye ●o  
To you no thyn● it died accord  
To summon our king your sovereign lor●●  
A king a sumner it is wonder  
Know ye not salt and sugar asunder  
In your summoning ye were to malapert  
And your harolde no thing expert  
Ye thought ye died it full valyauntolye  
But not worth three sups of a pie/  
Sir squire galyarde ye were to swift.  
Your will run before your wit.  
To be so scornful to your ally/  
Your counsel was not worth a fly.  
Before the french king/ danes/ and other  
Ye ought to honour your lord and brother  
Trow ye sir james his noble grace/  
For you and your scots would turn his face  
Now ye prode scots of gelawaye.  
For your king may sing wellaway  
Now must ye know our king for your regent/  
Your sovereign lord and president/  
In him is figured melchisedeche/  
And ye be desolate as armeleche  
He is our noble champion.  
A king anointed and ye be none  
Through your counsel your tader was slain  
Wherefore I fear ye will suffer pain/  
And ye proud scots of dunbar  
Pard ye be his homager.  
And suitors to his parliament/  
Ye died not your duty therein.  
Wyerfore ye may it now repent  
Ye bear yourself somewhat to bold/  
Therefore ye have lost your topholde.  
Ye be bound tenants to his estate.  
give up your game ye play chekmate.  
For to the castle of norham  
I understoude to soon ye came.  
For a prisoner there now ye be  
Either to the devil or the hermit.  
Thanked be saint. Gorge our ladies knythe  
Your pride is passed adwe good nytht.  
Ye have determined to make a fray  
Our king than being out of the way  
But by the power and might of god  
Ye were beaten weth your own rod  
By your wanton will sir at a word  
Ye have lost spurs/ cote armour/ and sword  
Ye had be better to have busked to huntey bakes/  
Than in England to play any such pranks  
But ye had some wile seed to sow.  
Therefore ye be laid now full low/  
Your power could no longer attain  
War with our king to meyntayne.  
Of the king of navarre ye may take heed/  
How unfortunately he doth now speed/  
In double wells now he doth dream.  
That is a king witou a realm  
At him example ye would none take.  
Experience hath brought you in the same brake  
Of the out isles ye rough footed scotts/  
We have well eased you of the botts  
Ye row rank scots and droken danes  
Of our english bows ye have set your banes.  
It is not fitting in tower nor town/  
A sumner to were a kings crown  
That ● Lyon.  
〈…〉 and pride hath laid a down  
His sone the lord admiral is full good.  
His sword hath bathed in the scots blood  
God save king. Henry and his lords all  
And send the treullhe king such an other fall/  
¶ Amen/ for saint charyte● And god save noble. King/ Henry/ The. v●ij.