Here is come youre citee all, Yow to worchepe and to magnyfye, To welcome yow, bothe gret and small, With yow everemore to lyve and dye. Grauntmercy, Sires, oure kyng gan say; And toward London he gan ride; This was upon seynt Clementys day, They wolcomed hym on every syde. The lordes of Fraunce, thei gan say then, Ingelond is nought as we wen, It farith be these Englisshmen, As it doth be a swarm of ben; Ingland is like an hive withinne, There fleeres makith us full evell to wryng, Tho ben there arrowes sharpe and kene, Thorugh oure harneys they do us styng.