Part IIAway then hied the heir of LinneO'er hill and holt and moor and fen,Untill he came to the lonesome lodge,That stood so lowe in a lonely glenne.He looked up, he looked down,In hope some comfort for to win:But bare and lothly were the walls.Here's sorry cheer, quo' the heir of Linne.The little window dim and darkWas hung with ivy, brere, and yew;No shimmering sun here ever shone;No wholesome breeze here ever blew.Nor chair, nor table he mote spy,No cheerful hearth, no welcome bed,Nought save a rope with a running noose,That dangling hung up o'er his head.And over it in broad lettèrs,These words were written so plain to see:'Ah! graceless wretch, hast spent thine all,And brought thyself to penurìe?'And this my boding mind misgaveI therefore left this trusty friend:Let it now shield thy foule disgrace,And all thy shame and sorrows end.'Sorely shent wi' this rebuke,Sorely shent was the heir of Linne;His heart, I wis, was near to burstWith guilt and sorrow, shame and sin.Never a word spake the heir of Linne,Never a word he spake but three:'This is a trusty friend indeed,And is right welcome unto me.'Then round his neck the cord he drew,And sprang aloft with his bodìe:When lo! the ceiling burst in twaine,And to the ground came tumbling he.Astonished lay the heir of Linne,Nor knewe if he were live or dead:At length he looked, and saw a bill,And in it a key of gold so redd.He took the bill, and lookt it on,Strait good comfort found he there:It told him of a hole in the wall,In which there stood three chests in-fere.Two were full of the beaten gold,The third was full of white monèy;And over them in broad lettèrsThese words were written so plain to see:'Once more, my son, I set thee clear;Amend thy life and follies past;For but thou amend thee of thy life,That rope must be thy end at last.''And let it be,' said the heir of Linne;'And let it be, but if I amend:For here I will make mine avow,This read shall guide me to the end.'Away then went with a merry cheer,Away then went the heir of Linne;I wis, he neither ceas'd nor stayed,Till John o' the Scales' house he did win.And when he came to John o' the Scales,Up at the window then looked he:There sate three lords upon a row,Were drinking of the wine so free.And John himself sate at the bord-head,Because now lord of Linne was he.I pray thee, he said, good John o' the Scales,One forty pence for to lend me.Away, away, thou thriftless loone;Away, away, this may not be:For a curse upon my head he said,If ever I trust thee one pennìe.Then bespake the heir of Linne,To John o' the Scales' wife then spake he:Madame, some alms on me bestow,I pray for sweet saint Charitìe.Away, away, thou thriftless loone,I swear thou gettest no alms of me;For if we shold hang any losel here,The first we would begin with thee.Then bespake a good fellòwe,Which sat at John o' the Scales his bord;Sayd, Turn again, thou heir of Linne;Some time thou wast a well good Lord:Some time a good fellow thou hast been,And sparedst not thy gold and fee:Therefore I'll lend thee forty pence,And other forty if need be.And ever, I pray thee, John o' the Scales,To let him sit in thy companie:For well I wot thou hadst his land,And a good bargain it was to thee.Up then spake him John o' the Scales,All hot he answered him againe:Now a curse upon my head, he said,But I did lose by that bargàine.And here I proffer thee, heir of Linne,Before these lords so fair and free,Thou shalt have it back again better cheap,By a hundred markes, than I had it of thee.I draw you to record, lords, he said.With that he cast him a god's pennie:Now by my fay, sayd the heir of Linne,And here, good John, is thy monèy.And he pull'd forth three bags of gold,And layd them down upon the board:All woebegone was John o' the Scales,Soe shent he could say never a word.He told him forth the good red gold,He told it forth with mickle dinne,The gold is thine, the land is mine,And now I'm again the lord of Linne.Sayes, Have thou here, thou good fellòwe,Forty pence thou didst lend me:Now I am again the lord of Linne,And forty pounds I will give thee.I'll make thee keeper of my forest,Both of the wild deere and the tame;For unless I reward thy bounteous heart,I wis, good fellowe, I were to blame.Now well-aday! sayth John o' the Scales:Now well-aday! and woe is my life!Yesterday I was lady of Linne,Now I'm but John o' the Scales his wife.Now fare thee well, said the heir of Linne;Farewell now, John o' the Scales, said he.A curse light on me, if ever againI bring my lands in jeopardy.
Part II
Away then hied the heir of LinneO'er hill and holt and moor and fen,Untill he came to the lonesome lodge,That stood so lowe in a lonely glenne.
He looked up, he looked down,In hope some comfort for to win:But bare and lothly were the walls.Here's sorry cheer, quo' the heir of Linne.
The little window dim and darkWas hung with ivy, brere, and yew;No shimmering sun here ever shone;No wholesome breeze here ever blew.
Nor chair, nor table he mote spy,No cheerful hearth, no welcome bed,Nought save a rope with a running noose,That dangling hung up o'er his head.
And over it in broad lettèrs,These words were written so plain to see:'Ah! graceless wretch, hast spent thine all,And brought thyself to penurìe?
'And this my boding mind misgaveI therefore left this trusty friend:Let it now shield thy foule disgrace,And all thy shame and sorrows end.'
Sorely shent wi' this rebuke,Sorely shent was the heir of Linne;His heart, I wis, was near to burstWith guilt and sorrow, shame and sin.
Never a word spake the heir of Linne,Never a word he spake but three:'This is a trusty friend indeed,And is right welcome unto me.'
Then round his neck the cord he drew,And sprang aloft with his bodìe:When lo! the ceiling burst in twaine,And to the ground came tumbling he.
Astonished lay the heir of Linne,Nor knewe if he were live or dead:At length he looked, and saw a bill,And in it a key of gold so redd.
He took the bill, and lookt it on,Strait good comfort found he there:It told him of a hole in the wall,In which there stood three chests in-fere.
Two were full of the beaten gold,The third was full of white monèy;And over them in broad lettèrsThese words were written so plain to see:
'Once more, my son, I set thee clear;Amend thy life and follies past;For but thou amend thee of thy life,That rope must be thy end at last.'
'And let it be,' said the heir of Linne;'And let it be, but if I amend:For here I will make mine avow,This read shall guide me to the end.'
Away then went with a merry cheer,Away then went the heir of Linne;I wis, he neither ceas'd nor stayed,Till John o' the Scales' house he did win.
And when he came to John o' the Scales,Up at the window then looked he:There sate three lords upon a row,Were drinking of the wine so free.
And John himself sate at the bord-head,Because now lord of Linne was he.I pray thee, he said, good John o' the Scales,One forty pence for to lend me.
Away, away, thou thriftless loone;Away, away, this may not be:For a curse upon my head he said,If ever I trust thee one pennìe.
Then bespake the heir of Linne,To John o' the Scales' wife then spake he:Madame, some alms on me bestow,I pray for sweet saint Charitìe.
Away, away, thou thriftless loone,I swear thou gettest no alms of me;For if we shold hang any losel here,The first we would begin with thee.
Then bespake a good fellòwe,Which sat at John o' the Scales his bord;Sayd, Turn again, thou heir of Linne;Some time thou wast a well good Lord:
Some time a good fellow thou hast been,And sparedst not thy gold and fee:Therefore I'll lend thee forty pence,And other forty if need be.
And ever, I pray thee, John o' the Scales,To let him sit in thy companie:For well I wot thou hadst his land,And a good bargain it was to thee.
Up then spake him John o' the Scales,All hot he answered him againe:Now a curse upon my head, he said,But I did lose by that bargàine.
And here I proffer thee, heir of Linne,Before these lords so fair and free,Thou shalt have it back again better cheap,By a hundred markes, than I had it of thee.
I draw you to record, lords, he said.With that he cast him a god's pennie:Now by my fay, sayd the heir of Linne,And here, good John, is thy monèy.
And he pull'd forth three bags of gold,And layd them down upon the board:All woebegone was John o' the Scales,Soe shent he could say never a word.
He told him forth the good red gold,He told it forth with mickle dinne,The gold is thine, the land is mine,And now I'm again the lord of Linne.
Sayes, Have thou here, thou good fellòwe,Forty pence thou didst lend me:Now I am again the lord of Linne,And forty pounds I will give thee.
I'll make thee keeper of my forest,Both of the wild deere and the tame;For unless I reward thy bounteous heart,I wis, good fellowe, I were to blame.
Now well-aday! sayth John o' the Scales:Now well-aday! and woe is my life!Yesterday I was lady of Linne,Now I'm but John o' the Scales his wife.
Now fare thee well, said the heir of Linne;Farewell now, John o' the Scales, said he.A curse light on me, if ever againI bring my lands in jeopardy.
An old song made by an aged old pate,Of an old worshipful gentleman, who had a greate estate,That kept a brave old house at a bountiful rate,And an old porter to relieve the poor at his gate;Like an old courtier of the queen'sAnd the queen's old courtier.With an old lady, whose anger one word assuages;They every quarter paid their old servants their wages,And never knew what belong'd to coachman, footmen, nor pages,But kept twenty old fellows with blue coats and badges;Like an old courtier ...With an old study fill'd full of learned old books,With an old reverend chaplain, you might know him by his looks.With an old buttery hatch worn quite off the hooks,And an old kitchen, that maintain'd half a dozen old cooks:Like an old courtier ...With an old hall, hung about with pikes, guns and bows,With old swords, and bucklers, that had borne many shrewde blows,And an old frize coat to cover his worship's trunk hose,And a cup of old sherry, to comfort his copper nose;Like an old courtier ...With a good old fashion, when Christmasse was come,To call in all his old neighbours with bagpipe and drum,With good chear enough to furnish every old room,And old liquor able to make a cat speak, and man dumb,Like an old courtier ...With an old falconer, huntsman, and a kennel of hounds,That never hawked, nor hunted, but in his own grounds,Who, like a wise man, kept himself within his own bounds,And when he dyed gave every child a thousand good pounds;Like an old courtier ...But to his eldest son his house and land he assign'd,Charging him in his will to keep the old bountifull mind,To be good to his old tenants, and to his neighbours be kind:But in the ensuing ditty you shall hear how he was inclin'd;Like a young courtier of the king'sAnd the king's young courtier.Like a flourishing young gallant, newly come to his land,Who keeps a brace of painted madams at his command,And takes up a thousand pound upon his father's land,And gets drunk in a tavern, till he can neither go nor stand;Like a young courtier ...With a new-fangled lady, that is dainty, nice, and spare,Who never knew what belong'd to good house-keeping, or care,Who buyes gaudy-color'd fans to play with wanton air,And seven or eight different dressings of other women's hair;Like a young courtier ...With a new-fashion'd hall, built where the old one stood,Hung round with new pictures, that do the poor no good,With a fine marble chimney, wherein burns neither coal nor wood,And a new smooth shovelboard, whereon no victuals ne'er stood;Like a young courtier ...With a new study, stuft full of pamphlets, and plays,And a new chaplain, that swears faster than he prays,With a new buttery hatch, that opens once in four or five days,And a new French cook, to devise fine kickshaws, and toys;Like a young courtier ...With a new fashion, when Christmas is drawing on,On a new journey to London straight we all must begone,And leave none to keep house, but our new porter John,Who relieves the poor with a thump on the back with a stone;Like a young courtier ...With a new gentleman-usher, whose carriage is compleat,With a new coachman, footmen, and pages to carry up the meat,With a waiting-gentlewoman, whose dressing is very neat,Who when her lady has din'd, lets the servants not eat;Like a young courtier ...With new titles of honour bought with his father's old gold,For which sundry of his ancestors' old manors are sold;And this is the course most of our new gallants hold,Which makes that good house-keeping is now grown so cold,Among the young courtiers of the king,Among the king's young courtiers.
An old song made by an aged old pate,Of an old worshipful gentleman, who had a greate estate,That kept a brave old house at a bountiful rate,And an old porter to relieve the poor at his gate;Like an old courtier of the queen'sAnd the queen's old courtier.
With an old lady, whose anger one word assuages;They every quarter paid their old servants their wages,And never knew what belong'd to coachman, footmen, nor pages,But kept twenty old fellows with blue coats and badges;Like an old courtier ...
With an old study fill'd full of learned old books,With an old reverend chaplain, you might know him by his looks.With an old buttery hatch worn quite off the hooks,And an old kitchen, that maintain'd half a dozen old cooks:Like an old courtier ...
With an old hall, hung about with pikes, guns and bows,With old swords, and bucklers, that had borne many shrewde blows,And an old frize coat to cover his worship's trunk hose,And a cup of old sherry, to comfort his copper nose;Like an old courtier ...
With a good old fashion, when Christmasse was come,To call in all his old neighbours with bagpipe and drum,With good chear enough to furnish every old room,And old liquor able to make a cat speak, and man dumb,Like an old courtier ...
With an old falconer, huntsman, and a kennel of hounds,That never hawked, nor hunted, but in his own grounds,Who, like a wise man, kept himself within his own bounds,And when he dyed gave every child a thousand good pounds;Like an old courtier ...
But to his eldest son his house and land he assign'd,Charging him in his will to keep the old bountifull mind,To be good to his old tenants, and to his neighbours be kind:But in the ensuing ditty you shall hear how he was inclin'd;Like a young courtier of the king'sAnd the king's young courtier.
Like a flourishing young gallant, newly come to his land,Who keeps a brace of painted madams at his command,And takes up a thousand pound upon his father's land,And gets drunk in a tavern, till he can neither go nor stand;Like a young courtier ...
With a new-fangled lady, that is dainty, nice, and spare,Who never knew what belong'd to good house-keeping, or care,Who buyes gaudy-color'd fans to play with wanton air,And seven or eight different dressings of other women's hair;Like a young courtier ...
With a new-fashion'd hall, built where the old one stood,Hung round with new pictures, that do the poor no good,With a fine marble chimney, wherein burns neither coal nor wood,And a new smooth shovelboard, whereon no victuals ne'er stood;Like a young courtier ...
With a new study, stuft full of pamphlets, and plays,And a new chaplain, that swears faster than he prays,With a new buttery hatch, that opens once in four or five days,And a new French cook, to devise fine kickshaws, and toys;Like a young courtier ...
With a new fashion, when Christmas is drawing on,On a new journey to London straight we all must begone,And leave none to keep house, but our new porter John,Who relieves the poor with a thump on the back with a stone;Like a young courtier ...
With a new gentleman-usher, whose carriage is compleat,With a new coachman, footmen, and pages to carry up the meat,With a waiting-gentlewoman, whose dressing is very neat,Who when her lady has din'd, lets the servants not eat;Like a young courtier ...
With new titles of honour bought with his father's old gold,For which sundry of his ancestors' old manors are sold;And this is the course most of our new gallants hold,Which makes that good house-keeping is now grown so cold,Among the young courtiers of the king,Among the king's young courtiers.
Long the proud Spaniards had vaunted to conquer us,Threatning our country with fyer and sword;Often preparing their navy most sumptuousWith as great plenty as Spain could afford.Dub a dub, dub a dub, thus strike their drums;Tantara, tantara, the Englishman comes.To the seas presentlye went our lord admiral,With knights couragious and captains full good;The brave Earl of Essex, a prosperous general,With him prepared to pass the salt flood.At Plymouth speedilye, took they ship valiantlye,Braver ships never were seen under sayle,With their fair colours spread, and streamers o'er their head.Now bragging Spaniards, take heed of your tayle.Unto Cales cunninglye, came we most speedilye,Where the kinges navy securelye did ryde;Being upon their backs, piercing their butts of sacks,Ere any Spaniards our coming descryde.Great was the crying, the running and ryding,Which at that season was made in that place;The beacons were fyred, as need then required;To hyde their great treasure they had little space.There you might see their ships, how they were fyred fast,And how their men drowned themselves in the sea;There you might hear them cry, wayle and weep piteously,When they saw no shift to 'scape thence away.The great St. Phillip, the pryde of the Spaniards,Was burnt to the bottom, and sunk in the sea;But the St. Andrew, and eke the St. Matthew,Wee took in fight manfullye and brought away.The Earl of Essex, most valiant and hardye,With horsemen and footmen march'd up to the town;The Spanyards, which saw them, were greatly alarmed,Did fly for their savegard, and durst not come down.Now, quoth the noble Earl, courage my soldiers all,Fight and be valiant, the spoil you shall have;And be well rewarded all from the great to the small;But look that the women and children you save.The Spaniards at that sight, thinking it vain to fight,Hung upp flags of truce and yielded the towne;Wee marched in presentlye, decking the walls on hye,With English colours which purchas'd renowne.Entering the houses then, of the most richest men,For gold and treasure we searched eche day;In some places we did find, pyes baking left behind,Meate at fire rosting, and folkes run away.Full of rich merchandize, every shop catch'd our eyes,Damasks and sattens and velvets full fayre:Which soldiers mèasur'd out by the length of their swords;Of all commodities eche had a share.Thus Cales was taken, and our brave generalMarch'd to the market-place, where he did stand:There many prisoners fell to our several shares,Many crav'd mercye, and mercye they fannd.When our brave general saw they delayed all,And would not ransome their towne as they said,With their fair wanscots, their presses and bedsteds,Their joint-stools and tables a fire we made;And when the town burned all in a flame,With tara, tantara, away we all came.
Long the proud Spaniards had vaunted to conquer us,Threatning our country with fyer and sword;Often preparing their navy most sumptuousWith as great plenty as Spain could afford.Dub a dub, dub a dub, thus strike their drums;Tantara, tantara, the Englishman comes.
To the seas presentlye went our lord admiral,With knights couragious and captains full good;The brave Earl of Essex, a prosperous general,With him prepared to pass the salt flood.
At Plymouth speedilye, took they ship valiantlye,Braver ships never were seen under sayle,With their fair colours spread, and streamers o'er their head.Now bragging Spaniards, take heed of your tayle.
Unto Cales cunninglye, came we most speedilye,Where the kinges navy securelye did ryde;Being upon their backs, piercing their butts of sacks,Ere any Spaniards our coming descryde.
Great was the crying, the running and ryding,Which at that season was made in that place;The beacons were fyred, as need then required;To hyde their great treasure they had little space.
There you might see their ships, how they were fyred fast,And how their men drowned themselves in the sea;There you might hear them cry, wayle and weep piteously,When they saw no shift to 'scape thence away.
The great St. Phillip, the pryde of the Spaniards,Was burnt to the bottom, and sunk in the sea;But the St. Andrew, and eke the St. Matthew,Wee took in fight manfullye and brought away.
The Earl of Essex, most valiant and hardye,With horsemen and footmen march'd up to the town;The Spanyards, which saw them, were greatly alarmed,Did fly for their savegard, and durst not come down.
Now, quoth the noble Earl, courage my soldiers all,Fight and be valiant, the spoil you shall have;And be well rewarded all from the great to the small;But look that the women and children you save.
The Spaniards at that sight, thinking it vain to fight,Hung upp flags of truce and yielded the towne;Wee marched in presentlye, decking the walls on hye,With English colours which purchas'd renowne.
Entering the houses then, of the most richest men,For gold and treasure we searched eche day;In some places we did find, pyes baking left behind,Meate at fire rosting, and folkes run away.
Full of rich merchandize, every shop catch'd our eyes,Damasks and sattens and velvets full fayre:Which soldiers mèasur'd out by the length of their swords;Of all commodities eche had a share.
Thus Cales was taken, and our brave generalMarch'd to the market-place, where he did stand:There many prisoners fell to our several shares,Many crav'd mercye, and mercye they fannd.
When our brave general saw they delayed all,And would not ransome their towne as they said,With their fair wanscots, their presses and bedsteds,Their joint-stools and tables a fire we made;And when the town burned all in a flame,With tara, tantara, away we all came.
There was a youth, a well-beloved youth,And he was a squire's son;He loved the bayliffe's daughter dear,That lived in Islington.Yet she was coy and would not believeThat he did love her so,No nor at any time would sheAny countenance to him show.But when his friends did understandHis fond and foolish mind,They sent him up to faire LondonAn apprentice for to bind.And when he had been seven long years,And never his love could see:Many a tear have I shed for her sake,When she little thought of me.Then all the maids of IslingtonWent forth to sport and play,All but the bayliffe's daughter dear;She secretly stole away.She pulled off her gown of green,And put on ragged attire,And to faire London she would goHer true love to enquire.And as she went along the high road,The weather being hot and dry,She sat her down upon a green bank,And her true love came riding bye.She started up, with a colour so redd,Catching hold of his bridle-reine;One penny, one penny, kind sir, she said,Will ease me of much pain.Before I give you one penny, sweetheart,Pray tell me where you were born.At Islington, kind sir, said she,Where I have had many a scorn.I prythe, sweetheart, then tell to me,O tell me, whether you know,The bayliffe's daughter of Islington.She is dead, sir, long ago.If she be dead, then take my horse,My saddle and bridle also;For I will unto some far country,Where no man shall me know.O stay, O stay, thou goodly youth,She standeth by thy side;She is here alive, she is not dead,And ready to be thy bride.O farewell grief, and welcome joy,Ten thousand times therefore;For now I have found mine own true love,Whom I thought I should never see more.
There was a youth, a well-beloved youth,And he was a squire's son;He loved the bayliffe's daughter dear,That lived in Islington.
Yet she was coy and would not believeThat he did love her so,No nor at any time would sheAny countenance to him show.
But when his friends did understandHis fond and foolish mind,They sent him up to faire LondonAn apprentice for to bind.
And when he had been seven long years,And never his love could see:Many a tear have I shed for her sake,When she little thought of me.
Then all the maids of IslingtonWent forth to sport and play,All but the bayliffe's daughter dear;She secretly stole away.
She pulled off her gown of green,And put on ragged attire,And to faire London she would goHer true love to enquire.
And as she went along the high road,The weather being hot and dry,She sat her down upon a green bank,And her true love came riding bye.
She started up, with a colour so redd,Catching hold of his bridle-reine;One penny, one penny, kind sir, she said,Will ease me of much pain.
Before I give you one penny, sweetheart,Pray tell me where you were born.At Islington, kind sir, said she,Where I have had many a scorn.
I prythe, sweetheart, then tell to me,O tell me, whether you know,The bayliffe's daughter of Islington.She is dead, sir, long ago.
If she be dead, then take my horse,My saddle and bridle also;For I will unto some far country,Where no man shall me know.
O stay, O stay, thou goodly youth,She standeth by thy side;She is here alive, she is not dead,And ready to be thy bride.
O farewell grief, and welcome joy,Ten thousand times therefore;For now I have found mine own true love,Whom I thought I should never see more.
PART IGod prosper long our noble King,Our lives and safeties all!A woeful Hunting once there didIn Chevy Chase befall.To drive the deer, with hound and horn,Earl Percy took the way;The child may rue, that is unborn,The hunting of that day!The stout Earl of NorthumberlandA vow to God did make,His pleasure in the Scottish woods,Three summer days to take;The chiefest harts in Chevy Chase,To kill and bear away.These tidings to Earl Douglas cameIn Scotland, where he lay.Who sent Earl Percy present word,He would prevent his sport.The English Earl, not fearing that,Did to the woods resortWith fifteen hundred bowmen bold,All chosen men of might,Who knew full well, in time of need,To aim their shafts aright.The gallant greyhounds swiftly ran,To chase the fallow deer.On Monday, they began to hunt,Ere daylight did appear;And long before high noon they hadA hundred fat bucks slain:Then, having dined, the drovers wentTo rouse the deer again.The hounds ran swiftly through the woods,The nimble deer to take,That with their cries the hills and dalesAn echo shrill did make.Lord Percy, to the quarry went,To view the slaughtered deer,Quoth he, 'Earl Douglas promisédThis day to meet me here:'But if I thought he would not come,No longer would I stay!'With that, a brave young gentleman,Thus to the Earl did say:'Lo! yonder doth Earl Douglas come!His men in armour bright!Full twenty hundred Scottish spearsAll marching in our sight!'All pleasant men of Tividale,Fast by the river Tweed.''O, cease your sports!' Earl Percy said,'And take your bows with speed;'And now with me, my countrymen,Your courage forth advance;For there was never champion yet,In Scotland, nor in France,'That ever did on horseback come;And, if my hap it were,I durst encounter man for man,With him to break a spear!'Earl Douglas, on his milk-white steed,Most like a baron bold,Rode foremost of his company,Whose armour shone like gold.'Show me,' said he, 'whose men you be,That hunt so boldly here?That, without my consent, do chaseAnd kill my fallow deer?'The first man that did answer make,Was noble Percy he,Who said, 'We list not to declare,Nor show, whose men we be:'Yet we will spend our dearest bloodThy chiefest harts to slay.'Then Douglas swore a solemn oath,And thus in rage did say:'Ere thus I will outbravèd be,One of us two shall die:I know thee well! An earl thou art,Lord Percy. So am I.'But, trust me, Percy, pity it were,And great offence, to killAny of these, our guiltless men!For they have done no ill.'Let thou and I, the battle try;And set our men aside.''Accursed be he,' Earl Percy said,'By whom it is denied!'Then stepped a gallant squire forth,Witherington was his name,Who said, 'I would not have it toldTo Henry our king, for shame,'That e'er my Captain fought on foot,And I stood looking on.You be two earls,' quoth Witherington,'And I a squire alone.'I'll do the best that do I may,While I have power to stand:While I have power to wield my sword,I'll fight with heart and hand.'Our English archers bent their bows,Their hearts were good and true.At the first flight of arrows sent,Full fourscore Scots they slew.'To drive the deer with hound and horn!'Douglas bade on the bent.Two captains moved, with mickle might,Their spears to shivers went.They closed full fast on every side;No slackness there was found:But many a gallant gentlemanLay gasping on the ground.O, Christ! it was a grief to see,And likewise for to hear,The cries of men lying in their gore,And scattered here and there.At last, these two stout earls did meet.Like captains of great might,Like lions wood, they laid on load,And made a cruel fight:They fought, until they both did sweat,With swords of tempered steel,Till blood adown their cheeks, like rain,They trickling down did feel.'Yield thee, O Percy,' Douglas said,'In faith! I will thee bring,Where thou shalt high advancèd be,By James, our Scottish King!'Thy ransom I will freely give!And this report of thee,"Thou art the most courageous knightThat ever I did see!"''No, Douglas,' quoth Earl Percy then,'Thy proffer I do scorn;I will not yield to any ScotThat ever yet was born!'With that, there came an arrow keenOut of an English bow,Which struck Earl Douglas to the heart,A deep and deadly blow.Who never said more words than these,'Fight on, my merry men all!For why? My life is at an end,Lord Percy sees my fall!'Then leaving life, Earl Percy tookThe dead man by the hand,Who said, 'Earl Douglas, for thy sake,Would I had lost my land!'O, Christ! my very heart doth bleedFor sorrow, for thy sake,For, sure, a more redoubted knightMischance could never take!'A knight, amongst the Scots there was,Which saw Earl Douglas die;Who straight in heart did vow revengeUpon the Lord Percy.PART IISir Hugh Montgomery was he called;Who, with a spear most bright,Well mounted on a gallant steed,Ran fiercely through the fight.And passed the English archers all,Without or dread or fear;And through Earl Percy's body thenHe thrust his hateful spear.With such a vehement force and might,He did his body gore:The staff ran through the other side,A large cloth-yard and more.Thus did both those nobles die,Whose courage none could stain.An English archer then perceivedThe noble earl was slain.He had a good bow in his hand,Made of a trusty tree.An arrow of a cloth-yard long,Up to the head drew he.Against Sir Hugh Montgomery,So right the shaft he set;The grey-goose wing that was thereon,In his heart's blood was wet.This fight did last from break of dayTill setting of the sun:For when they rang the evening bell,The battle scarce was done.With stout Earl Percy there were slainSir John of Egerton,Sir Robert Ratcliff, and Sir John,Sir James, that bold Baron.And with Sir George and stout Sir James,Both Knights of good account,Good Sir Ralph Raby there was slain,Whose prowess did surmount.For Witherington needs must I wail,As one in doleful dumps,For when his legs were smitten off,He fought upon his stumps.And with Earl Douglas there were slainSir Hugh Montgomery;And Sir Charles Murray, that from fieldOne foot would never flee.Sir Charles Murray of Ratcliff, too,His sister's son was he:Sir David Lamb, so well esteemed,But savèd he could not be.And the Lord Maxwell, in like case,Did with Earl Douglas die.Of twenty hundred Scottish spearsScarce fifty-five did fly.Of fifteen hundred Englishmen,Went home but fifty-three;The rest in Chevy Chase were slain,Under the greenwood tree.Next day did many widows comeTheir husbands to bewail:They washed their wounds in brinish tears;But all would not prevail!Their bodies, bathed in purple blood,They bore with them away.They kissed them, dead, a thousand times,Ere they were clad in clay.The news was brought to Edinborough,Where Scotland's King did reign,That brave Earl Douglas suddenlyWas with an arrow slain.'O, heavy news!' King James did say,'Scotland may witnèss be,I have not any captain moreOf such account as he!'Like tidings to King Henry came,Within as short a space,That Percy of Northumberland,Was slain in Chevy Chase.'Now, God be with him!' said our king,'Sith it will no better be;I trust I have, within my realm,Five hundred as good as he!'Yet shall not Scots, nor Scotland, sayBut I will vengeance take;And be revengèd on them all,For brave Earl Percy's sake.'This vow the king did well performAfter, on Humbledown,In one day fifty knights were slain,With lords of great renown;And of the rest, of small account,Did many thousands die.Thus endeth the hunting in Chevy Chase,Made by the Earl Percy.God save our king; and bless this landWith plenty, joy, and peace!And grant henceforth, that foul debate'Twixt noblemen may cease!
PART I
God prosper long our noble King,Our lives and safeties all!A woeful Hunting once there didIn Chevy Chase befall.
To drive the deer, with hound and horn,Earl Percy took the way;The child may rue, that is unborn,The hunting of that day!
The stout Earl of NorthumberlandA vow to God did make,His pleasure in the Scottish woods,Three summer days to take;
The chiefest harts in Chevy Chase,To kill and bear away.These tidings to Earl Douglas cameIn Scotland, where he lay.
Who sent Earl Percy present word,He would prevent his sport.The English Earl, not fearing that,Did to the woods resort
With fifteen hundred bowmen bold,All chosen men of might,Who knew full well, in time of need,To aim their shafts aright.
The gallant greyhounds swiftly ran,To chase the fallow deer.On Monday, they began to hunt,Ere daylight did appear;
And long before high noon they hadA hundred fat bucks slain:Then, having dined, the drovers wentTo rouse the deer again.
The hounds ran swiftly through the woods,The nimble deer to take,That with their cries the hills and dalesAn echo shrill did make.
Lord Percy, to the quarry went,To view the slaughtered deer,Quoth he, 'Earl Douglas promisédThis day to meet me here:
'But if I thought he would not come,No longer would I stay!'With that, a brave young gentleman,Thus to the Earl did say:
'Lo! yonder doth Earl Douglas come!His men in armour bright!Full twenty hundred Scottish spearsAll marching in our sight!
'All pleasant men of Tividale,Fast by the river Tweed.''O, cease your sports!' Earl Percy said,'And take your bows with speed;
'And now with me, my countrymen,Your courage forth advance;For there was never champion yet,In Scotland, nor in France,
'That ever did on horseback come;And, if my hap it were,I durst encounter man for man,With him to break a spear!'
Earl Douglas, on his milk-white steed,Most like a baron bold,Rode foremost of his company,Whose armour shone like gold.
'Show me,' said he, 'whose men you be,That hunt so boldly here?That, without my consent, do chaseAnd kill my fallow deer?'
The first man that did answer make,Was noble Percy he,Who said, 'We list not to declare,Nor show, whose men we be:
'Yet we will spend our dearest bloodThy chiefest harts to slay.'Then Douglas swore a solemn oath,And thus in rage did say:
'Ere thus I will outbravèd be,One of us two shall die:I know thee well! An earl thou art,Lord Percy. So am I.
'But, trust me, Percy, pity it were,And great offence, to killAny of these, our guiltless men!For they have done no ill.
'Let thou and I, the battle try;And set our men aside.''Accursed be he,' Earl Percy said,'By whom it is denied!'
Then stepped a gallant squire forth,Witherington was his name,Who said, 'I would not have it toldTo Henry our king, for shame,
'That e'er my Captain fought on foot,And I stood looking on.You be two earls,' quoth Witherington,'And I a squire alone.
'I'll do the best that do I may,While I have power to stand:While I have power to wield my sword,I'll fight with heart and hand.'
Our English archers bent their bows,Their hearts were good and true.At the first flight of arrows sent,Full fourscore Scots they slew.
'To drive the deer with hound and horn!'Douglas bade on the bent.Two captains moved, with mickle might,Their spears to shivers went.
They closed full fast on every side;No slackness there was found:But many a gallant gentlemanLay gasping on the ground.
O, Christ! it was a grief to see,And likewise for to hear,The cries of men lying in their gore,And scattered here and there.
At last, these two stout earls did meet.Like captains of great might,Like lions wood, they laid on load,And made a cruel fight:
They fought, until they both did sweat,With swords of tempered steel,Till blood adown their cheeks, like rain,They trickling down did feel.
'Yield thee, O Percy,' Douglas said,'In faith! I will thee bring,Where thou shalt high advancèd be,By James, our Scottish King!
'Thy ransom I will freely give!And this report of thee,"Thou art the most courageous knightThat ever I did see!"'
'No, Douglas,' quoth Earl Percy then,'Thy proffer I do scorn;I will not yield to any ScotThat ever yet was born!'
With that, there came an arrow keenOut of an English bow,Which struck Earl Douglas to the heart,A deep and deadly blow.
Who never said more words than these,'Fight on, my merry men all!For why? My life is at an end,Lord Percy sees my fall!'
Then leaving life, Earl Percy tookThe dead man by the hand,Who said, 'Earl Douglas, for thy sake,Would I had lost my land!
'O, Christ! my very heart doth bleedFor sorrow, for thy sake,For, sure, a more redoubted knightMischance could never take!'
A knight, amongst the Scots there was,Which saw Earl Douglas die;Who straight in heart did vow revengeUpon the Lord Percy.
PART II
Sir Hugh Montgomery was he called;Who, with a spear most bright,Well mounted on a gallant steed,Ran fiercely through the fight.
And passed the English archers all,Without or dread or fear;And through Earl Percy's body thenHe thrust his hateful spear.
With such a vehement force and might,He did his body gore:The staff ran through the other side,A large cloth-yard and more.
Thus did both those nobles die,Whose courage none could stain.An English archer then perceivedThe noble earl was slain.
He had a good bow in his hand,Made of a trusty tree.An arrow of a cloth-yard long,Up to the head drew he.
Against Sir Hugh Montgomery,So right the shaft he set;The grey-goose wing that was thereon,In his heart's blood was wet.
This fight did last from break of dayTill setting of the sun:For when they rang the evening bell,The battle scarce was done.
With stout Earl Percy there were slainSir John of Egerton,Sir Robert Ratcliff, and Sir John,Sir James, that bold Baron.
And with Sir George and stout Sir James,Both Knights of good account,Good Sir Ralph Raby there was slain,Whose prowess did surmount.
For Witherington needs must I wail,As one in doleful dumps,For when his legs were smitten off,He fought upon his stumps.
And with Earl Douglas there were slainSir Hugh Montgomery;And Sir Charles Murray, that from fieldOne foot would never flee.
Sir Charles Murray of Ratcliff, too,His sister's son was he:Sir David Lamb, so well esteemed,But savèd he could not be.
And the Lord Maxwell, in like case,Did with Earl Douglas die.Of twenty hundred Scottish spearsScarce fifty-five did fly.
Of fifteen hundred Englishmen,Went home but fifty-three;The rest in Chevy Chase were slain,Under the greenwood tree.
Next day did many widows comeTheir husbands to bewail:They washed their wounds in brinish tears;But all would not prevail!
Their bodies, bathed in purple blood,They bore with them away.They kissed them, dead, a thousand times,Ere they were clad in clay.
The news was brought to Edinborough,Where Scotland's King did reign,That brave Earl Douglas suddenlyWas with an arrow slain.
'O, heavy news!' King James did say,'Scotland may witnèss be,I have not any captain moreOf such account as he!'
Like tidings to King Henry came,Within as short a space,That Percy of Northumberland,Was slain in Chevy Chase.
'Now, God be with him!' said our king,'Sith it will no better be;I trust I have, within my realm,Five hundred as good as he!
'Yet shall not Scots, nor Scotland, sayBut I will vengeance take;And be revengèd on them all,For brave Earl Percy's sake.'
This vow the king did well performAfter, on Humbledown,In one day fifty knights were slain,With lords of great renown;
And of the rest, of small account,Did many thousands die.Thus endeth the hunting in Chevy Chase,Made by the Earl Percy.
God save our king; and bless this landWith plenty, joy, and peace!And grant henceforth, that foul debate'Twixt noblemen may cease!
Fair stood the wind for FranceWhen we our sails advance,Nor now to prove our chanceLonger will tarry;But putting to the main,At Kaux, the mouth of Seine,With all his martial train,Landed King Harry.And taking many a fort,Furnish'd in warlike sortMarch'd towards AgincourtIn happy hour;Skirmishing day by dayWith those that stopp'd his way,Where the French gen'ral layWith all his power.Which in his height of pride,King Henry to deride,His ransom to provideTo the King sending;Which he neglects the while,As from a nation vileYet with an angry smile,Their fall portending.And turning to his men,Quoth our brave Henry then,Though they to one be ten,Be not amazed.Yet, have we well begun,Battles so bravely wonHave ever to the sunBy fame been raised.And for myself, quoth he,This my full rest shall be,England ne'er mourn for me,Nor more esteem me.Victor I will remain,Or on this earth lie slain,Never shall she sustainLoss to redeem me.Poictiers and Cressy tell,When most their pride did swell,Under our swords they fell,No less our skill is,Than when our grandsire great,Claiming the regal seat,By many a warlike feat,Lop'd the French lilies.The Duke of York so dread,The eager vanward led;With the main Henry sped,Amongst his henchmen.Excester had the rear,A braver man not there,O Lord, how hot they wereOn the false Frenchmen!They now to fight are gone,Armour on armour shone,Drum now to drum did groan,To hear, was wonder;That with cries they make,The very earth did shake,Trumpet to trumpet spake,Thunder to thunder.Well it thine age became,O noble Erpingham,Which did the signal aimTo our hid forces:When from a meadow by,Like a storm suddenly,The English archeryStuck the French horses.With Spanish yew so strong,Arrows a cloth-yard long,That like to serpents stungPiercing the weather;None from his fellow starts,But playing manly parts,And like true English hearts,Stuck close together.When down their bows they threw,And forth their bilbows drew,And on the French they flew,Not one was tardy;Arms were from shoulders sent,Scalps to the teeth were rent,Down the French peasants went,Our men were hardy.This while our noble king,His broad sword brandishing,Down the French host did ding,As to o'erwhelm it;And many a deep wound lent,His arms with blood besprent,And many a cruel dentBruised his helmet.Glo'ster, that duke so good,Next of the royal blood,For famous England stood,With his brave brother;Clarence, in steel so bright,Though but a maiden knight,Yet in that furious fightScarce such another.Warwick in blood did wade,Oxford the foe invade,And cruel slaughter made,Still as they ran up;Suffolk his axe did ply,Beaumont and WilloughbyBare them right doughtily,Ferrers and Fanhope.Upon Saint Crispin's dayFought was this noble fray,Which fame did not delayTo England to carry;O when shall EnglishmenWith such acts fill a pen,Or England breed againSuch a King Harry?
Fair stood the wind for FranceWhen we our sails advance,Nor now to prove our chanceLonger will tarry;But putting to the main,At Kaux, the mouth of Seine,With all his martial train,Landed King Harry.
And taking many a fort,Furnish'd in warlike sortMarch'd towards AgincourtIn happy hour;Skirmishing day by dayWith those that stopp'd his way,Where the French gen'ral layWith all his power.
Which in his height of pride,King Henry to deride,His ransom to provideTo the King sending;Which he neglects the while,As from a nation vileYet with an angry smile,Their fall portending.
And turning to his men,Quoth our brave Henry then,Though they to one be ten,Be not amazed.Yet, have we well begun,Battles so bravely wonHave ever to the sunBy fame been raised.
And for myself, quoth he,This my full rest shall be,England ne'er mourn for me,Nor more esteem me.Victor I will remain,Or on this earth lie slain,Never shall she sustainLoss to redeem me.
Poictiers and Cressy tell,When most their pride did swell,Under our swords they fell,No less our skill is,Than when our grandsire great,Claiming the regal seat,By many a warlike feat,Lop'd the French lilies.
The Duke of York so dread,The eager vanward led;With the main Henry sped,Amongst his henchmen.Excester had the rear,A braver man not there,O Lord, how hot they wereOn the false Frenchmen!
They now to fight are gone,Armour on armour shone,Drum now to drum did groan,To hear, was wonder;That with cries they make,The very earth did shake,Trumpet to trumpet spake,Thunder to thunder.
Well it thine age became,O noble Erpingham,Which did the signal aimTo our hid forces:When from a meadow by,Like a storm suddenly,The English archeryStuck the French horses.
With Spanish yew so strong,Arrows a cloth-yard long,That like to serpents stungPiercing the weather;None from his fellow starts,But playing manly parts,And like true English hearts,Stuck close together.
When down their bows they threw,And forth their bilbows drew,And on the French they flew,Not one was tardy;Arms were from shoulders sent,Scalps to the teeth were rent,Down the French peasants went,Our men were hardy.
This while our noble king,His broad sword brandishing,Down the French host did ding,As to o'erwhelm it;And many a deep wound lent,His arms with blood besprent,And many a cruel dentBruised his helmet.
Glo'ster, that duke so good,Next of the royal blood,For famous England stood,With his brave brother;Clarence, in steel so bright,Though but a maiden knight,Yet in that furious fightScarce such another.
Warwick in blood did wade,Oxford the foe invade,And cruel slaughter made,Still as they ran up;Suffolk his axe did ply,Beaumont and WilloughbyBare them right doughtily,Ferrers and Fanhope.
Upon Saint Crispin's dayFought was this noble fray,Which fame did not delayTo England to carry;O when shall EnglishmenWith such acts fill a pen,Or England breed againSuch a King Harry?