Squire Song; The

Pull ye on the gambeson, and fit on him the pads.
We'll dress the squire for tournament, me hale and hearty lads.
Put on him the gorget and the breastplate and the mail,
The elbow joints and paldrons and the gauntlets for to hail.

Upon his bum the tassets come; a cuisse upon his thigh.
Wrap it around and tie it down, and hope that he stay dry.
Fit the greaves below his knees and tie it down below,
And cover his feet with a sollerete in case he stubs his toe.

Upon his helm put a sign of the realm, and clamp it on his head.
Behold the man in armor! Let the competition dread!
Tuck in a glove from his lady love and a weapon for to wield,
A tunic or vest to cover his chest, and finally his shield.

Fifteen, thirty, and fourty-five, and ninety a hundred pounds.
"Have mercy!" cried the squire, oh gadzooks, egad and zounds!
Undress him now, me squires, for I fear that he must yield --
He be so weighed down with armor that he can not lift his shield.