Translation.—May Wales be accursed of God and of St. Simon!—for it has always been full of treason.

May Scotland be accursed of the mother of God!—and may Wales be sunk down deep to the devil!—In neither of them was there ever truth.—For as soon as war was commenced in Wales,—and the covenant which had been cut out in Aquitaine—was broken and refused by the King of France,—and Edward and Philip began hostilities,—the foolish King of Scotland, named John Baliol,—who was brought to the kingdom by King Edward,—by the seductions of his false baronage,—against his homage and against his fealty,—sent messengers to the court of Rome—to pope Celestin, who at the time held the see,—by a trick falsely showed—that the kingdom of Scotland with the dignity—ought to hold of him by testimony of ancient times,—and that King Edward by force and might—made him do homage against his will;—and prays that he may be absolved and delivered—from his faith to the king, to whom he was sworn.—Pope Celestin, too unadvised,—absolves the King of Scotland by his bull.—As soon as the thing is announced in Scotland,—the barons have made to their disgrace—twelve peers of Scotland, and have taken counsel—to disinherit Edward of the sovereignty.—For the great honour which Edward the prudent—did to John Baliol, such is the goodness—with which King Edward—by King John the sleeveless—is rewarded.—With Scotland let it be as it may,—it is needful for us to complete—the history before mentioned.

When Morgan has submitted, and Madoc is taken,—the king returns to London by the advice of his friends.—Two cardinals of Rome the pope has sent there,—who had talked with the King of France at Paris;—the pope has interfered to establish love between them.—The cardinals have stated their object to the king;—pressingly they have requested Edward and Philip—to remain in peace each in his country,—like good people of power and value,—who on no side make themselves enemies;—or that the pope himself should be their judge,—to effect the reconciliation wherever might be the trespass.

Whilst the cardinals were talking of the peace,—the people of Normandy came to Dover,—along with them were those of Calais.—They entered suddenly into the town of Dover,—and began to burn a part of the town;—of young and old they killed thirteen men.—When they came to the reckoning, they left ten for one.—The keeper of the castle and those who remained,—and the monks of the cell, who bare themselves well,—took to their defence and cried out upon them;—Normans and Picards who had put themselves in debt,—were let out of pledge; the hats remained—with the heads of some, the others went away.—There was a monk in truth, to whom twenty bowed down,—and he absolved them all, they knew not a word more.—The cardinals afterwards repaired to Paris;—I do not know what answer they carried from the king.—Nevertheless divers among them said,—that all the conversations would come to this at last,—that Edward and Philip should withdraw their people,—so that people should go by sea and by land,—in sufferance of peace, as friends could;—the English would perform the agreement,—if the Germans would agree with them.

Whilst the cardinals are interfering—to re-establish the peace, and to make the kings friends,—Thomas de Turbevile, who was taken at Rion,—has talked so much to the Provost of Paris,—that he has done his homage to him, and given as hostages—his two sons in keeping, and solemnly promised—to go to England to spy the country,—and to say to King Edward that he came a fugitive—escaped from prison among his enemies.—The Provost agreed to it, and put in his writing—a hundred pounds of land on such a devise;—and Thomas pledges on the Gospels,—that all England, and Wales and the Marches,—and all who are of value in the kingdom of Scotland,—shall bow to Philip the son of Louis.

Hear now how the grace of Jesus Christ—warned the gentle King Edward of the treason.—Thomas came to England and said to the king,—that he had escaped out of prison by night,—and that he had run so great a risk out of love to Sir Edward.—The king showed him in return courtesy enough;—and afterwards Turbeville inquired day by day—the state of the land, and provided for his going—from place to place to seek of great and of little,—how he could do such injury to the English,—that King Edward should lose his land.—The condition of every part, as he understood it,—he sent over with the cardinals by one of his own servants—to the Provost of Paris, who made joy enough about it.—The clerk who wrote the letter for Turbeville,—made known its contents to the king’s most secret counsellor.—The thief got to know this, and immediately took to flight;—a serjeant at arms, who followed him very closely,—surprised Turbeville the third day after.

The traitor is taken, and brought to London,—with very great wickedness which was found upon him.—The things which are aforesaid, which he had agreed to do,—by the king’s will are put under foot,—until the world is otherwise turned.—Turbeville is judged in the court as a traitor;—he was first drawn through the town of London,—and then hanged like a thief, for his malpractices.—For our King Edward God has interfered much—now and at other times for his safety.

When vengeance is done upon Turbeville,—the cardinals of Rome, who had repaired to France—have had frequent conversation with King Philip,—and have often besought the King of Germany,—and have demonstrated by clerks and laymen—to the gentle King Edward, that the variance is hard—about which he and King Philip are at discord;—whereby they have so ordained the matter,—that he and the two kings shall send without delay—to Cambrai clerks and laymen of great knowledge,—to treat of the peace, and to judge the grievances,—and to make the amends for the war.—King Edward agrees to it with good faith;—to Cambrai he has sent without any delay—bishops and barons of great account.—May God by his power guard them from treason!

While these lords are gone upon this message,—Sir Edward the brother of the King of gentle spirit,—the Earl of Lincoln with all his retainers,—Sir William de Vescy, a good and prudent knight,—barons and vavasors of gentle lineage,—knights and sergeants with their cousinage,—footmen without number from moor and wood,—and Welshmen who know how to fight from frequent practice,—are gone into Gascony, and entered on the passage,—with thirty-six banners of the best escuage—that was in England, except the vassalage—of those who now perform their seignorage.—For those who are left to guard their inheritance,—the king has required and taken into his expedition—against the King of Scotland and his false baronage,—who have withdrawn their homage from King Edward.—The first day of March, in all the great storm,—comes King Edward with very great purveyance,—to Newcastle-upon-Tyne, for the great outrage—which the wicked dogs have effected in their folly.—May our King Edward suffer the “male rage,”—if he does not take them and hold them so fast in cage,—that nothing shall remain after his taillage,—except only their rivelings and their bare backsides.

Robert de Ros of Wark fled from the English,—and entered into the war with the people of Scotland.—The King Sir Edward seized his castle,—held the festival of Easter there, and afterwards went—towards Berwick-on-Tweed, and besieged the town.—The ill-fated people at first surprised—two ships of English, and put them to death.—King Edward heard of it, and attacked the gates;—the English passed the ditches without respite.—On Easter Friday in the afternoon he conquered—the town of Berwick; the English slew there—four thousand Scotchmen, and many others perished.—Sir Edward lost there one knight and no more,—Richard de Cornwall [was he], a Fleming struck him—with an arrow which he shot out of the red hall.—Soon was the hall taken, the fire cleared the way.—The keeper of the castle when he saw the necessity,—delivered the castle to King Edward before it was assaulted.—William Douglas was chosen in it,—and Richard Fraser, to do injury to the king;—the king has them prisoners. Jesus Christ be thanked!

The Earl of the March, the famous Patrick,—of his own free will came in to the king’s peace;—Gilbert de Umfraville before remained—with King Edward, to whom he was sworn;—Sir Robert de Bruce with all his household—holds always his fealty to King Edward,—and has shown him love in his wars against the Scots.—When Berwick was taken, there was found within it—gold and silver without measure, and plenty of the other metals,—and all the nobility which belonged to a city.—The Baliol has lost the issue and entry—of the noblest town that was in his power.—King Edward holds it conquered by the sword,—causes it to be surrounded with a ditch large and broad,—in reproof of the Scot who had sung of him,—and made rhymes in English for mockery.—Let him pike and let him dike,—they said in scorn,—how it may best be.—He pikes and he dikes,—in length as he likes,—as they may best see.—Scattered are the Scots,—huddled in their huts,—they never thrive:—Right if I read,—they tumble in Tweed—who dwelt by the sea.

Whilst Sir Edward with earls and barons—caused Berwick to be surrounded with ditches,—there are issued from Scotland three earls, by name—Mar, Ross, and Menteith, with forty thousand rascals;—they were going in the route in parties,—they reduced Tindale to ashes and cinders,—the town of Corbridge and the two monasteries—of Hexham and Lanercost they have destroyed by fire,—they have made slaughter of the people of the country,—carried off their goods, driven away the canons.—After the ravage like fools and miserable wretches—they are gone to Dunbar to their confusion.—They have taken the castle, and erect their tents,—the houses belonged to the Earl of the March.—King Edward heard tell of it, and issued summonses—to recover Dunbar, and take the thieves—who had made destruction of holy church.—A little before this time, through the regions,—the cardinal returned from Cambrai with an answer—of the King of France, as we shall hear afterwards;—Sire Amy de Savoy, a count of great renown,—came in his company, and Otho de Grauntsoun.—The latter came with his companions from Cyprus,—who, when Acres was taken, escaped—by passing the neighbouring sea, without other accidents.—I have told you before what evil and what destruction—were done to holy church wrongfully and without reason;—and you have often heard in the holy sermons—that God is just in all his dealings:—Now hear of Dunbar, where without evasions—the enemies of God are caught in a fold like sheep.

On the first Monday in the month of May,—at Berwick-upon-Tweed the king heard say,—how the foolish rascals, who had burnt—Hexham and Lanercost, nor spared the monasteries,—had taken Dunbar, the castle by the sea,—where the Earl Patrick kept his wife.—The King Sir Edward forthwith caused to be sent there—the Earl of Warenne with all his power,—the Earl of Warwick and Hugh le Despenser,—barons and vavasours, knights, squires;—Southerns and Northerns went there right courageously;—they take there footmen enough for their need,—and come to Dunbar to besiege the castle.—They prepared for the attack, and would not delay.—The foolish felons within hoped to have aid;—they plotted together how to trick the English.—Sir Richard Syward, who used to dwell—with our King Edward, at robe and pay,—they send deceitfully to treat with our English;—so he comes to them, and says, that very willingly—he will cause the castle to be delivered to them, if they will grant—three days’ respite, that they may consult—the King Baliol, and tell him their condition.—And if he at that time do not come to raise the siege,—they will deliver the castle without further delay.—Forthwith he gives hostages, and causes to be announced—to the host of Scotland in the same manner,—as you will hear after, he caused it to be recorded.

The messenger goes, and soon came to—King John and to the host which was with him,—he said to them as Siward had instructed him:—“Sir King, your barons remain in hard strait—in the castle of Dunbar, in danger of being driven out.—For when King Edward knew of their being there,—he caused part of his host to be sent thither.—The Englishman, when he came there, besieged the castle.—Sir Richard Siward, who knew them all,—issued from the castle, and talked them over so well,—that the English gave him a truce for three days.—Wherefore the company, who were there on your part,—commanded me to go to you as to their lord,—and to say truly, that the man neither sits nor goes,—who can hinder your coming, unless by some deceit,—within the term of truce which the English has granted us.—To-morrow at the hour when people eat and drink,—go hence hastily straight there;—ours in the castle will watch for you;—they will issue upon the English who do not expect their coming,—entrap them between you and hold them so tight,—that they shall no more come in the field to do annoyance to yours.—You have no other way that will avail you.—Now arm, and let us go, and may no soul survive—who shall have any mercy on our enemies when they are taken!—Strike with the sword—Northumberland—will be yours by right;—All England—by this war—you will that it be lost:—Never did Albania—by stroke of the sword—do so great an exploit.”—On the green—that keen generation—gathered like goats;—I reckon—on some it is seen,—where the bit bit.

At the saying of the messenger the rout of vagabonds—begin to arrange themselves in order of battle.—Sir Richard Siward, who gave this counsel,—comes to the English, and says, “God help me!—I see people coming in very great apparel,—as though they would give battle, without number of footmen.—I go, if you think well, to hinder them,—that they may not come nearer.”—Our people say, “Do not trouble yourself!”—And they take Siward, that he may proceed no further;—they place guards at the gate and at the wall;—Humphrey de Bohun the younger is keeper of the guard,—to hinder aid from the castle from attacking their rear;—and they mount their steeds, and spur to the hill;—he who can run fastest springs before the others.—The Scot sees them come, and turns his tail like a quail,—he flies away as straw does before the wind.—The English pursue them like a sheep—when it flies at the sight of the wolf issuing from the wood.—The proud Scot imagines that he is as good as—the Duke Sir Corineus, who conquered Cornwall.—Of so many men at arms I marvel very much—that there is not one of them all worth a farthing in action,—except Patrick de Graham, who remains and strikes—with the burnished sword, but he is slain without fail.—Ten thousand and fifty-four are slain in the engagement;—they are all Scots, I have the number by reckoning.—These were the caitiffs who butchered the cattle—in Northumberland, and left the entrails to the dogs.—They were excommunicated by book and candle,—because neither holy church nor priest or clergy—they spared no more than bake-house or barn.—Sin has driven them to such a hap—that they have lost in the field the head with the ears.—The foot-people—put the Scots in the poke,—and made bare their backsides:—By way—heard I never tell—of readier pages,—to pick—the robes off the men,—who in the field fell.—They took of each man;—the rough ragged devil—tear them in hell!

In battle or encounter it was never recorded—that so many people were destroyed so soon,—or thus turned their backs without making any defence.—May the crows have the bodies, and the devils the souls—of all that thus have conducted the wars!—For of this part there was never once,—within town or without, a good action proved,—but only prowling and robbing the towns,—burning holy church, killing the clergy,—may God be praised who has revenged it at Dunbar!—The earls who had done the wicked deeds,—as soon as they knew and were aware—of the defeat of their kindred,—have delivered the castle to the English on their return,—and without conditions obliged themselves—to the King Sir Edward, to do his will.—The king next day came there to his baronage,—the prisoners who are taken they have presented to him,—three earls, three barons, three bannerets,—and besides them twenty-eight dubbed knights,—with five score gentlemen who were found there;—two clerks and two Picards are counted among them.—The Earls are sent to the Tower of London.—Some of the barons are associated with them;—the others are sent to different castles,—two by two mounted together on a hackney;—some with their feet fettered in carts;—in such kind of dance their game ended!—Throughout England in every country—people will always talk of their pride—as long as the world lasts, people have scoffed at their action.—For the Scots—I reckon for sots,—and wretches unwary;—ill luck—to give blows—drew them to Dunbar.

Now it is time to tell the plot—of the twelve peers of Scotland, who thought surely—to destroy England, I will just tell you how.—When the King of France, after the breaking off—of that marriage which was often talked of,—would retain Gascony by abatement,—and King Edward sent thither his people,—and re-took a part by war from the French;—King John of Scotland, by the enticement—of earls and barons, and of clerks also,—sent to France by common agreement—the bishop of St. Andrew’s, by whose procurement—the brother of the King of France, namely, Charles,—made an alliance for the son of the King of Scotland,—who was to marry his daughter, and afterwards by oath—the French and Scots should go conjointly—into England to destroy from the Tweed to Kent;—and that the King of France should land,—when he would, suddenly in the Tweed,—forthwith he should suddenly take all Northumberland,—and then all the land without hindrance;—that he should not leave a man alive, neither father nor kindred.—The traitorous negotiation being entered upon without completion,—the seneschal of Scotland is come in without more ado—to the King Sir Edward, with all that belongs to him,—earls and barons and bishops fully,—are come to his peace all at his desire.—King John and his son, without land or tenement,—are led to London to support judgment.—Now King Edward possesses Scotland entirely,—like Albanac had it at the beginning.—The Welsh and Irish—to our English—aid doughtily.—Whereby the Scots—have through ours—imprisonment;—and that land—by this war—is lost for ever.—The Welsh are gone home,—and the Irish returned—with sail and with wind.—You English remain there;—you ought to pray devoutly—that the Lord God forbid,—to take Aman into favour again,—and exile Mardocheus,—in royal parliament.—Edward, amid all your accusations,—please to remember the burnings,—of the temple of God Almighty,—at Hexham, where that host—of the cross made roast,—the figure of human salvation.—Herod strikes there, the child dies,—in this anguish Rachael weeps;—Edward, wreak vengeance for it.—Thou wilt be judge, judge according to right;—let him hang who ought to hang,—the law wills it certainly.—The punishment is hard and cruel,—for it is everlasting,—for all who give judgment otherwise.—Now chastise your enemies,—that they may not stir again—in a new mischief.—We ought to have mercy;—but that ought not to avail a traitor,—there the law suspends it.—For love nor for pence,—a king ought not to spare,—so as not to judge equally.—If the king will serve God,—it is right he should maintain the law;—if he does not, he sins and errs very much.—In truth when John Baliol—left his book at school,—he was too ill deceived.—¶ For bale bred in his book,—when he lost what he took—with the kingdom;—for he has over-hopped,—his tippet is tipped,—his tabard is empty.—He laughed while it pleased him,—his pack (?) is pierced through,—he thought he was loyal;—....

Pride in a country, is like a nettle in the garden,—which overgrows the rose and pushes it back;—so it is with Baliol, that, by him the twelve peers—are fallen down for their wicked proceeding,—he has lost his realm, and is gone to lodge—in the Tower of London, at another’s expense.—The King Sir Edward makes guard enough;—the Earl John de Warenne is chief justice,—and Henry de Percy has Galway to rule;—at Berwick-upon-Tweed is established the exchequer,—and Hugh de Cressingham is treasurer there;—and Walter de Amundisham is chancellor.—The King to nourish the peace causes his bench to be proclaimed there,—and five judges to govern the law.—Sheriffs and bailiffs are established for the need—of the English who could and would judge according to right.—The guard is established so good and so perfect,—neither Fleming nor Frenchman henceforth shall have the power,—to enter into Scotland, unless it be for commerce.—Of all those of most account who were to remain—the homages are taken, the King makes them swear—that they will be loyal by land and by sea.—They who began the war and the advisers of it—are sent beyond the Trent to repose in the south,—so long as the war lasts in Gascony.—Thus ought the lord to chastise his men.—The bishop of Durham, who did much worthy of praise,—in conquering the land was always the first,—were it not for his activity and boldness of heart,—things now finished would be to begin.—The twelve peers—go away to the friars—to confess them,—the judgment—which awaits them—they may fear.—Kambynoy—holds himself all coy,—he will not help.—The sorcery—of Albania—cannot avail.—Andrew sleeps,—or he is dead—at the monastery.—What will the Scot do,—when he will hear—the King talk,—at St. Edmund’s,—and of treason—accuse—earl and baron,—who by burning—destroys the altar?—He can go no further,—there he must—stand like a thief;—and by judgment—King Edward—determine.—And so may man teach—the Scots to run,—and begin war.—To some is left nothing—but his torn riveling—to hop therein.—Their King’s seat of Scone—is driven over down,—and led to London.—In town I heard tell,—the ... and the bell—are stolen and fled.

O God! how often Merlin said truth—in his prophecies! As you read,—now are the two waters come into one,—which have been separated by great mountains; and one realm is made out of two different kingdoms,—which used to be governed by two kings.—Now are the islanders all brought together,—and Albania is rejoined to its regalities,—of which King Edward is proclaimed lord;—Cornwall and Wales are in his power,—and Ireland the great is at his will.—There is no longer any king of all the countries—except King Edward who has thus visited them.—Arthur had never so fully the feudalities.—Henceforth he has nothing to do but to look after his goings,—to conquer his inheritance from the King of France,—and then to carry the cross where Jesus Christ was born.—His enemies,—thank God!—are chastised;—they are all vanquished,—and taken like rats,—and bound.—He has run about—and fought—quite enough,—with two kings—at one time,—and overthrown them;—the one on this side—now goes to that side—with his baronage.—John and Thomas—will not leave him—unassisted;—Cuthbert comes to him,—who holds with him—in the combats.—In God, I tell you,—Merlin of him—prophesied;—three regions—in his possession—shall be gained.—Let not be blamed—the prophecy—sinfully;—Lord God Almighty,—at St. Edmund’s at the parliament—give him counsel.—And on false Philip of France—by thy virtue to have vengeance,—that he may never be advanced—for his mere falseness.

To the borough of St. Edmund, on the day which was fixed,—are come the bishops, with the company—of laymen and clerks, of whom the king prays—aid and courtesy of the goods of holy church,—as they had promised before in the abbey—of Westminster, whereby the king trusts to it—for the help of his war which is not finished.—Earls and barons, with the knights,—for themselves and for the people grant in aid—the tenth penny, and for the merchants—the seventh part for the aid of his treasury.—And the archbishop, who holds the primacy—of the see of Canterbury, studies for an answer,—and explains to the king by two bishops—the condition of holy church, which is much impoverished.—The bishop afterwards goes to the king and says,—“Sire, for God’s sake, do not grieve yourself at all about that,—for all holy church, I certify thee,—under God there is no soul alive in the world—who has over holy church power or mastery,—except the pope of Rome, who holds the vicary—which St. Peter the apostle had in keeping.—The pope is our head, he keeps and rules us,—and he has made a statute which binds us closely,—on privation of rent and of prelacy,—that neither tenth, nor twentieth, nor half, nor part—none of us give to thee or to any other,—without his commandment and allowance,—upon it he solemnly excommunicates and curses—every son of a mother that by lordship—injures holy church, which may God help in its freedom!”—“Sir clerk,” said the King, “thou hast talked folly;—promise is debt due, if faith be not forgotten;—but if I saw thee here in possession of the bull—as well as all the others, by the son of Mary!—you should not be relieved of this aid.”

“Sire,” said the Archbishop, “very willingly—thee as our lord we will all aid—with the leave of the pope, if thou wilt send to him—by one of thy clerks with our messenger,—who could relate to him thy condition and ours;—and according to the message which the pope shall send us back,—we will as far as our abilities go courteously aid thee.”—“Sir clerk,” says the King again, “I have no need—for thee to advise me to consult the pope;—but if thou wilt have respite in this case,—cause thy clerks to assemble when thou wilt,—talk to them of the promise, and treat heartily of it;—after St. Hilary’s day come to Westminster,—and make the answer without more talk!”—“Sire,” said the Archbishop, “for the sake of God and St. Richard!—please to command here and there thy people,—who are thy agents for the twelfth penny,—that they cause to be molested neither us nor our tenants,—nor tax our temporalities along with the layman.”—“Sir,” answers the King, “you need not fear it,—for they shall do neither well nor ill to none of thy power.—Nevertheless, fair Sir, I pray and require,—that throughout thy diocese thou commandest to pray—for me and mine, and to thank God,—who has done largely for us in our recent affairs.”—The Archbishop grants it, and does his duty.—A little before this time returned the treasurer—Walter de Langton, who had passed the sea—with the cardinal, to treat of the peace.—The answer which they bring no man can know,—except those of the council who dare not reveal it.—Messengers afterwards came to announce—to the King Sir Edward a form of arranging—the strife of Gascony, and to cause him to agree—with King Philip, without further war,—as the cardinals had caused it to be ordained.—King Edward forthwith sent back—Walter de Langton and Hugh le Despenser,—and John de Berwick, a clerk and a valiant knight.—May God conduct them there, and bring them well back again!

Of the barons of Scotland, at this parliament—reason was not rendered, nor judgment given.—The King is so courteous, so full of pity,—and of so great mercy, I believe certainly—that his mercy will be the saving—of those who have fully deserved death,—by their deeds attainted of felony.—The great pity of heart which he has often had—upon the felons of Wales, every body talks of it;—when he was most occupied for his advancement,—they made war upon him, and cause a diversion,—whereby he was obliged to leave his goings elsewhere.

After the day of St. Hilary, when the King thought (to hold)—parliament at London, as he had ordained,—news came to him by him who was then—come from Cambrai, and announced to him—that the talk of peace was made with no intention of coming to an end.—Wherefore King Edward remained and prepared—by sea and by land that he might not be betrayed;—at Westminster he collected his people—to treat about what aid the clergy should give him.—The Lord of Canterbury held himself very rigid on this matter,—he vowed to St. Thomas for him and his parish,—that no one of his church should be any more taxed,—nor placed in servage as long as he lived,—without command of the pope, who ought to govern them.—The Lord of Lincoln agreed to this,—Bishop Oliver, who was not used to bend.—The King was so enraged against the clergy,—that he commanded them to be judged out of his peace.—But now afterwards he repealed that decree.—This did those bishops who willingly consented—to aid their lord whereby to recover his right,—to defend holy church from shame and loss.—The elect of York, who desired peace,—said that willingly as far as concerned him—he would give the fifth penny wherewith to defend holy church.—Not a soul spoke there of the caitiff Scots:—they remained in keeping in the same care,—as they were before, Dunbar caused them vexation.—For there were they burnt ...—he ... them thither,—and drove to dote.—For Scots at Dunbar—had at their ...—shame of their note.—Never were dogs there—hurled out of....