Ye Northern gownsmen, a bold race, Now swore they'd quicklie free
the plaice; With stalwart gripe, and beadle's staffe Theye clefte the
townsmen's sculls in half.
~264~~
And now the wrathful rabble rave, And quick returne withe club and
stave; And heades righte learn'd in classic lore Felt as they'd never
felt before. Now fierce and bloody growes the fraye: In vaine the mayore
and sheriffe praye For peace--to cool the townsmens' ire, Intreatie but
impelles the fire. Downe with the Towne! the scholairs cry; Downe with
the Gowne! the towne reply. Loud rattle the caps of the clerkes in aire,
And the citizens many a sortie beare; And many a churchman fought his
waye, Like a heroe in the bloodie fraye. And one right portlie father
slewe Of rabble townsmen not a fewe. And now 'mid the battle's strife
and din There came to the Easterne gate, The heralde of our lorde
the kinge, With his merrie men all in state. "God help us!" quoth the
courtlie childe, "What means this noise within? With joye the people
have run wilde." And so he peeped him in, And throughe the wicker-gate
he spied, And marvelled much thereat, The streets withe crimson current
dyed, And Towne and Gowne laide flat. Then he called his merrie men
aloud, To bringe him a ladder straighte; The trumpet sounds--the warlike
crowde In a moment forget theire hate.
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