Prenegard, prenegard

Prenegard, prenegard!
Thus bere I mine baselard.

Lesteneth, lordinges, I you beseke!
There is none man worth a leke,
Be he sturdy, be he meke,
But he bere a baselard.

Mine baselard hath a schede of red,
And a clene loket of led;
Me thinketh I may bere up mine hed,
For I bere mine baselard.

My baselard hath a wrethen hafte.
Whan I am full of alé caughte,
It is grete dred of manslaughte,
For then I bere mine baselard.

My baselard hath a silver chape;
Therefore I may bothe gaspe and gape.
Me thinketh I go like none knape,
For I bere a baselard.

My baselard hath a trencher kene,
Fair as rasour scharp and schene.
Evere me thinketh I may be kene,
For I bere a baselard.

As I yede up in the strete,
With a cartere I gan mete.
‘Felawe,’ he seide, ‘so mote I the,
Thou schalt forego thy baselard.’
The cartere his whippe began to take,
And all mine fleich began to quake,
And I was lefe for to ascape;
And there I left mine baselard.

Whan I cam forth onto mine damme,
Mine hed was broken to the panne;
Sche seide I was a praty manne,
And well coude bere mine baselard.