96. Being all in armour he could not know him.—P.128. Both the MSS. read hereSir James, but see above,Pt. I. ver. 112.—P.143. Covelle, MS.162. Supposed to be son of Lord John Montgomery, who took Hotspur prisoner. InThe Hunting of the Cheviotthis Sir Hugh is said to have been slain with an arrow.
96. Being all in armour he could not know him.—P.
128. Both the MSS. read hereSir James, but see above,Pt. I. ver. 112.—P.
143. Covelle, MS.
162. Supposed to be son of Lord John Montgomery, who took Hotspur prisoner. InThe Hunting of the Cheviotthis Sir Hugh is said to have been slain with an arrow.
FromMinstrelsy of the Scottish Border, i. 354. In theComplaynt of Scotland(1548), "The Persee and the Mongumrye met," (v. 117 of this piece,) occurs as the title, or rather the catchword, of one of the popular songs of the time.
It fell about the Lammas tide,When the muir-men win their hay,The doughty Douglas bound him to rideInto England, to drive a prey.He chose the Gordons and the Græmes,5With them the Lindesays,light and gay;But theJardineswald not with him ride,And they rue it to this day.And he has burn'd the dales of Tyne,And part of Bambroughshire;10And three good towers on Reidswire fells,He left them all on fire.And he march'd up to Newcastle,And rode it round about;"O wha's the lord of this castle,15Or wha's the lady o't?"But up spake proud Lord Percy then,And O but he spake hie!"I am the lord of this castle,My wife's the lady gay."20"If thou'rt the lord of this castle,Sae weel it pleases me!For, ere I cross the Border fells,The tane of us shall die."He took a lang spear in his hand,25Shod with the metal free,And for to meet the Douglas there,He rode right furiouslie.But O how pale his lady look'd,Frae aff the castle wa',30When down before the Scottish spearShe saw proud Percy fa'."Had we twa been upon the green,And never an eye to see,I wad hae had you, flesh and fell;35But your sword sall gae wi' me.""But gae ye up to Otterbourne,And wait there dayis three;And if I come not ere three dayis end,A fause knight ca' ye me."40"The Otterbourne's a bonnie burn;'Tis pleasant there to be;But there is nought at Otterbourne,To feed my men and me."The deer rins wild on hill and dale,45The birds fly wild from tree to tree;But there is neither bread nor kale,To fend my men and me."Yet I will stay at Otterbourne,Where you shall welcome be;50And if ye come not at three dayis end,A fause lord I'll ca' thee.""Thither will I come," proud Percy said,"By the might of Our Ladye!""There will I bide thee," said the Douglas,55"My troth I plight to thee."They lighted high on Otterbourne,Upon the bent sae brown;They lighted high on Otterbourne,And threw their pallions down.60And he that had a bonnie boy,Sent out his horse to grass;And he that had not a bonnie boy,His ain servant he was.But up then spake a little page,65Before the peep of dawn—"O waken ye, waken ye, my good lord,For Percy's hard at hand.""Ye lie, ye lie, ye liar loud!Sae loud I hear ye lie:70For Percy had not men yestreenTo dight my men and me."But I have dream'd a dreary dream,Beyond the Isle of Sky;I saw a dead man win a fight,75And I think that man was I."He belted on his guid braid sword,And to the field he ran;But he forgot the helmet good,That should have kept his brain.80When Percy wi' the Douglas met,I wat he was fu' fain;They swakked their swords, till sair they swat,And the blood ran down like rain.But Percy with his good broad sword,85That could so sharply wound,Has wounded Douglas on the brow,Till he fell to the ground.Then he call'd on his little foot-page,And said—"Run speedilie,90And fetch my ain dear sister's son,Sir Hugh Montgomery."My nephew good," the Douglas said,"What recks the death of ane!Last night I dream'd a dreary dream,95And I ken the day's thy ain."My wound is deep; I fain would sleep;Take thou the vanguard of the three,And hide me by the braken bush,That grows on yonder lilye lee.100"O bury me by the braken bush,Beneath the blooming brier,Let never living mortal kenThat ere a kindly Scot lies here."He lifted up that noble lord,105Wi' the saut tear in his ee;He hid him in the braken bush,That his merrie-men might not see.The moon was clear, the day drew near,The spears in flinders flew,110But mony a gallant EnglishmanEre day the Scotsmen slew.The Gordons good, in English bloodThey steep'd their hose and shoon;The Lindsays flew like fire about,115Till all the fray was done.The Percy and Montgomery met,That either of other were fain;They swapped swords, and they twa swat,And aye the blood ran down between.120"Now yield thee, yield thee, Percy," he said,"Or else I vow I'll lay thee low!""To whom must I yield," quoth Earl Percy,"Now that I see it must be so?""Thou shalt not yield to lord nor loun,125Nor yet shalt thou yield to me;But yield thee to the braken bush,That grows upon yon lilye lee.""I will not yield to a braken bush,Nor yet will I yield to a brier;130But I would yield to Earl Douglas,Or Sir Hugh the Montgomery, if he were here."As soon as he knew it was Montgomery,He struck his sword's point in the gronde;The Montgomery was a courteous knight,135And quickly took him by the honde.This deed was done at the Otterbourne,About the breaking of the day;Earl Douglas was buried at the braken bush,And the Percy led captive away.140
It fell about the Lammas tide,When the muir-men win their hay,The doughty Douglas bound him to rideInto England, to drive a prey.
He chose the Gordons and the Græmes,5With them the Lindesays,light and gay;But theJardineswald not with him ride,And they rue it to this day.
And he has burn'd the dales of Tyne,And part of Bambroughshire;10And three good towers on Reidswire fells,He left them all on fire.
And he march'd up to Newcastle,And rode it round about;"O wha's the lord of this castle,15Or wha's the lady o't?"
But up spake proud Lord Percy then,And O but he spake hie!"I am the lord of this castle,My wife's the lady gay."20
"If thou'rt the lord of this castle,Sae weel it pleases me!For, ere I cross the Border fells,The tane of us shall die."
He took a lang spear in his hand,25Shod with the metal free,And for to meet the Douglas there,He rode right furiouslie.
But O how pale his lady look'd,Frae aff the castle wa',30When down before the Scottish spearShe saw proud Percy fa'.
"Had we twa been upon the green,And never an eye to see,I wad hae had you, flesh and fell;35But your sword sall gae wi' me."
"But gae ye up to Otterbourne,And wait there dayis three;And if I come not ere three dayis end,A fause knight ca' ye me."40
"The Otterbourne's a bonnie burn;'Tis pleasant there to be;But there is nought at Otterbourne,To feed my men and me.
"The deer rins wild on hill and dale,45The birds fly wild from tree to tree;But there is neither bread nor kale,To fend my men and me.
"Yet I will stay at Otterbourne,Where you shall welcome be;50And if ye come not at three dayis end,A fause lord I'll ca' thee."
"Thither will I come," proud Percy said,"By the might of Our Ladye!""There will I bide thee," said the Douglas,55"My troth I plight to thee."
They lighted high on Otterbourne,Upon the bent sae brown;They lighted high on Otterbourne,And threw their pallions down.60
And he that had a bonnie boy,Sent out his horse to grass;And he that had not a bonnie boy,His ain servant he was.
But up then spake a little page,65Before the peep of dawn—"O waken ye, waken ye, my good lord,For Percy's hard at hand."
"Ye lie, ye lie, ye liar loud!Sae loud I hear ye lie:70For Percy had not men yestreenTo dight my men and me.
"But I have dream'd a dreary dream,Beyond the Isle of Sky;I saw a dead man win a fight,75And I think that man was I."
He belted on his guid braid sword,And to the field he ran;But he forgot the helmet good,That should have kept his brain.80
When Percy wi' the Douglas met,I wat he was fu' fain;They swakked their swords, till sair they swat,And the blood ran down like rain.
But Percy with his good broad sword,85That could so sharply wound,Has wounded Douglas on the brow,Till he fell to the ground.
Then he call'd on his little foot-page,And said—"Run speedilie,90And fetch my ain dear sister's son,Sir Hugh Montgomery.
"My nephew good," the Douglas said,"What recks the death of ane!Last night I dream'd a dreary dream,95And I ken the day's thy ain.
"My wound is deep; I fain would sleep;Take thou the vanguard of the three,And hide me by the braken bush,That grows on yonder lilye lee.100
"O bury me by the braken bush,Beneath the blooming brier,Let never living mortal kenThat ere a kindly Scot lies here."
He lifted up that noble lord,105Wi' the saut tear in his ee;He hid him in the braken bush,That his merrie-men might not see.
The moon was clear, the day drew near,The spears in flinders flew,110But mony a gallant EnglishmanEre day the Scotsmen slew.
The Gordons good, in English bloodThey steep'd their hose and shoon;The Lindsays flew like fire about,115Till all the fray was done.
The Percy and Montgomery met,That either of other were fain;They swapped swords, and they twa swat,And aye the blood ran down between.120
"Now yield thee, yield thee, Percy," he said,"Or else I vow I'll lay thee low!""To whom must I yield," quoth Earl Percy,"Now that I see it must be so?"
"Thou shalt not yield to lord nor loun,125Nor yet shalt thou yield to me;But yield thee to the braken bush,That grows upon yon lilye lee."
"I will not yield to a braken bush,Nor yet will I yield to a brier;130But I would yield to Earl Douglas,Or Sir Hugh the Montgomery, if he were here."
As soon as he knew it was Montgomery,He struck his sword's point in the gronde;The Montgomery was a courteous knight,135And quickly took him by the honde.
This deed was done at the Otterbourne,About the breaking of the day;Earl Douglas was buried at the braken bush,And the Percy led captive away.140
6. "Light" is the appropriated designation of the Lindsays, as "gay" is that of the Gordons.7. The Jardines were a clan of hardy West-Border men. Their chief was Jardine of Applegirth. Their refusal to ride with Douglas was, probably, the result of one of those perpetual feuds, which usually rent to pieces a Scottish army.—S.35. Douglas insinuates that Percy was rescued by his soldiers.—S.140. Douglas was really buried in Melrose Abbey, where his tomb is still to be seen.
6. "Light" is the appropriated designation of the Lindsays, as "gay" is that of the Gordons.
7. The Jardines were a clan of hardy West-Border men. Their chief was Jardine of Applegirth. Their refusal to ride with Douglas was, probably, the result of one of those perpetual feuds, which usually rent to pieces a Scottish army.—S.
35. Douglas insinuates that Percy was rescued by his soldiers.—S.
140. Douglas was really buried in Melrose Abbey, where his tomb is still to be seen.
Inthe Battle of Otterbournethe story is told with all the usual accuracy of tradition, and the usual fairness of partizans. Not so with the following ballad, which is founded on the same event. "That which is commonly sung of theHunting of Cheviot," says Hume of Godscroft truly, "seemeth indeed poetical, and amere fiction, perhaps to stir up virtue; yet a fiction whereof there is no mention either in the Scottish or English chronicle." When this ballad arose we do not know, but we may suppose that a considerable time would elapse before a minstrel would venture to treat an historical event with so much freedom.
We must, however, allow some force to these remarks of Percy: "With regard to the subject of this ballad, although it has no countenance from history, there is room to think it had originally some foundation in fact. It was one of the laws of the Marches, frequently renewed between the nations, that neither party should hunt in the other's borders, without leave from the proprietors or their deputies. There had long been a rivalship between the two martial families of Percy and Douglas, which, heightened by the national quarrel, must have produced frequent challenges and struggles for superiority, petty invasions of their respective domains, and sharp contests for the point of honour; which would not always be recorded in history. Something of this kind, we may suppose, gave rise to the ancient ballad of theHunting a' the Cheviat. Percy Earl of Northumberland had vowed to hunt for three days in the Scottish border, without condescending to ask leave from Earl Douglas, who was either lord of the soil, or lord warden of the Marches. Douglas would not fail to resent the insult, and endeavour to repel the intruders by force: this would naturally produce a sharp conflict between the two parties; something of which, it is probable, did really happen, though not attended with the tragical circumstances recorded in the ballad: for these are evidently borrowed from the Battle of Otterbourn, a very different event, but which aftertimes would easily confound with it."[1]
The ballad as here printed is of the same age as the preceding. It is extracted from Hearne's Preface to theHistoryof Guilielmus Neubrigensis, p. lxxxii. Hearne derived his copy from a manuscript in the Ashmolean collection at Oxford, and printed the text in long lines, which, according to custom, are now broken up into two.
The manuscript copy is subscribed at the end "Expliceth quoth Rychard Sheale." Richard Sheale (it has been shown by a writer in theBritish Bibliographer, vol. iv. p. 97-105) was a minstrel by profession, and several other pieces in the same MS. have a like signature with this. On this ground it has been very strangely concluded that Sheale was not, as Percy and Ritson supposed, the transcriber, but the actual author of this noble ballad. The glaring objection of the antiquity of the language hasbeen met, first, by the supposition that the author belonged to the north of England, and afterwards, when it appeared that Sheale lived at Tamworth, about a hundred miles from London, by the allegation that the language of a person in humble life in Warwickshire or Staffordshire would be very far behind the current speech of the metropolis. It happens, however, that the language of the ballad is very much older than the other compositions of Sheale, as a moment's inspection will show. Besides, Sheale's poetical abilities were manifestly of the lowest order, and although he styles himself "minstrel," we have no reason to think that he ever composed ballads. He speaks of his memory being at one time so decayed that he "could neither sing nor talk." Being a mere ballad-singerand story-teller, he would naturally be dependent on that faculty. The fact is very obvious, that Richard Sheale was a mere reciter of songs and tales; at any rate, that all we have to thank him for in the matter ofChevy Chaseis for committing to paper the only old copy that has come down to our times.[2]
TheHunting of the Cheviotis mentioned in theComplaynt of Scotlandwith other, very ancient, ballads. It was consequently popular in Scotland in 1548, ten years before the time that weknowSheale to have written anything. The mention of James the Scottish King forbids us to assign this piece an earlier date than the reign of Henry VI.
It has been customary to understand Sidney'ssaying of the "old song of Percy and Douglas"—that it moved his heart more than a trumpet—exclusively ofChevy Chase. There is no question which ballad would stand higher in the estimation of the gentle knight, but the terms by which the war-song he admired is described are of course equally applicable toThe Battle of Otterbourne. By the way we may remark that if we do understand Sidney to have meantChevy Chase, then, whatever opinion writers of our day may have of its antiquity, and however probable it may seem to them thatChevy Chasewas written by a contemporary of Sir Philip, it appeared to the author of theDefence of Poetryto be "evil apparelled in the dust and cobweb of an uncivil age"!
[1]The Editor of theReliquesafterwards met with the following passage in Collins'sPeerage, which he thought might throw some light on the question of the origin of the ballad."In this ... year, 1436, according to Hector Boethius, was fought the battle of Pepperden, not far from the Cheviot Hills, between the Earl of Northumberland [IId Earl, son of Hotspur], and Earl William Douglas, of Angus, with a small army of about four thousand men each, in which the latter had the advantage. As this seems to have been a private conflict between these two great Chieftains of the Borders, rather than a national war, it has been thought to have given rise to the celebrated old ballad of Chevy-Chase; which to render it more pathetic and interesting, has been heightened with tragical incidents wholly fictitious."[2]We regret that even Dr. Rimbault has hastily sanctioned this ascription ofChevy-Chaseto the "sely" minstrel of Tamworth.
[1]The Editor of theReliquesafterwards met with the following passage in Collins'sPeerage, which he thought might throw some light on the question of the origin of the ballad.
"In this ... year, 1436, according to Hector Boethius, was fought the battle of Pepperden, not far from the Cheviot Hills, between the Earl of Northumberland [IId Earl, son of Hotspur], and Earl William Douglas, of Angus, with a small army of about four thousand men each, in which the latter had the advantage. As this seems to have been a private conflict between these two great Chieftains of the Borders, rather than a national war, it has been thought to have given rise to the celebrated old ballad of Chevy-Chase; which to render it more pathetic and interesting, has been heightened with tragical incidents wholly fictitious."
[2]We regret that even Dr. Rimbault has hastily sanctioned this ascription ofChevy-Chaseto the "sely" minstrel of Tamworth.
The Persè owt off Northombarlande,And a vowe to God mayd he,That he wold hunte in the mountaynsOff Chyviat within days thre,In themaugerof doughtè Dogles,5And all that ever with him be.The fattiste hartes in all CheviatHe sayd he wold kill, and cary them away:"Be my feth," sayd the dougheti Doglas agayn,"I wyll let that hontyng yf that I may."10Then thePersè owt of Banborowe cam,With him a myghtee meany;With fifteen hondritharcharesbold off blood and bone,The wear chosen owt ofshyars thre.This begane on a Monday at morn,15In Cheviat the hillys so he;The chyld may rue that ys un-born,It was the mor pittè.The dryvars throrowe the woodès went,For to reas the dear;20Bomen byckarte uppone the bentWith ther browd aras cleare.Then the wyld thorowe the woodès went,On every sydè shear;Grea-hondes thorowe the grevis glent,25For to kyll thear dear.The begane in Chyviat the hyls above,Yerly on a Monnyn day;Be that it drewe to the oware off none,A hondrith fat hartes ded ther lay.30Theblewe a mortuppone the bent,The semblyd on sydis shear;To the quyrry then the Persè went,To se the bryttlynge off the deare.He sayd, "It was the Duglas promys35This day to met me hear;But I wyste he wold faylle, verament:"A great oth the Persè swear.At the laste a squyar of NorthombelondeLokyde at his hand full ny;40He was wara' thedoughetie Doglas comynge,With him a myghttè meany;Both with spear,byll, and brande;Yt was a myghti sight to se;Hardyar men, both off hart nar hande,45Wear not in Christiantè.The wear twenty hondrith spear-men good,Withowtè any feale;The wear borne along be the watter a Twyde,Yth' bowndes of Tividale.50"Leave of the brytlyng of the dear," he sayde,"And to yourbowyslock ye tayk good heed;For never sithe ye wear on your mothars borneHad ye never so mickle ned."The dougheti Dogglas on a stede55He rode att his men beforne;His armor glytteryde as dyd a glede;A bolder barne was never born."Tell me whos men ye ar," he says,"Or whos men that ye be:60Who gave youe leave to hunte in this Chyviat chays,In the spyt of me?"The first mane that ever him an answear mayd,Yt was the good lord Persè:"We wyll not tell the whoys men we ar," he says,65"Nor whos men that we be;But we wyll hount hear in this chays,In the spyt of thyne and of the."The fattiste hartes in all ChyviatWe have kyld, and cast to carry them a-way:"70"Be my troth," sayd the doughtè Dogglasagayn,"Ther-for the ton of us shall de this day."Then sayd the doughtè DoglasUnto the lord Persè:"To kyll all thes giltles men,75Alas, it wear great pittè!"But, Persè, thowe art a lord of lande,I am a yerle callyd within my contrè;Let all our men uppone a parti stande,And do the battell off the and of me."80"Nowe Cristes cors on his crowne,"sayd thelord Persè,"Whosoever ther-to says nay;Be my troth, doughttè Doglas," he says,"Thow shalt never se that day."Nethar in Ynglonde, Skottlonde, nar France,85Nor for no man of a woman born,But, and fortune be my chance,I dar met him, on man for on."Then bespayke a squyar off Northombarlonde,Richard Wytharyngton was him nam;90"It shall never be told in Sothe-Ynglonde," he says,"To kyng Herry the fourth for sham."I wat youe byn great lordes twaw,I am a poor squyar of lande;I wyll never se my captayne fyght on a fylde,95And stande myselffe, and loocke on,But whyll I may my weppone welde,I wyll not [fayl] both hart and hande."That day, that day, that dredfull day!The first fit here I fynde;100And youe wyll here any mor a' the hountyng a' the Chyviat,Yet ys ther mor behynd.
The Persè owt off Northombarlande,And a vowe to God mayd he,That he wold hunte in the mountaynsOff Chyviat within days thre,In themaugerof doughtè Dogles,5And all that ever with him be.
The fattiste hartes in all CheviatHe sayd he wold kill, and cary them away:"Be my feth," sayd the dougheti Doglas agayn,"I wyll let that hontyng yf that I may."10
Then thePersè owt of Banborowe cam,With him a myghtee meany;With fifteen hondritharcharesbold off blood and bone,The wear chosen owt ofshyars thre.
This begane on a Monday at morn,15In Cheviat the hillys so he;The chyld may rue that ys un-born,It was the mor pittè.
The dryvars throrowe the woodès went,For to reas the dear;20Bomen byckarte uppone the bentWith ther browd aras cleare.
Then the wyld thorowe the woodès went,On every sydè shear;Grea-hondes thorowe the grevis glent,25For to kyll thear dear.
The begane in Chyviat the hyls above,Yerly on a Monnyn day;Be that it drewe to the oware off none,A hondrith fat hartes ded ther lay.30
Theblewe a mortuppone the bent,The semblyd on sydis shear;To the quyrry then the Persè went,To se the bryttlynge off the deare.
He sayd, "It was the Duglas promys35This day to met me hear;But I wyste he wold faylle, verament:"A great oth the Persè swear.
At the laste a squyar of NorthombelondeLokyde at his hand full ny;40He was wara' thedoughetie Doglas comynge,With him a myghttè meany;
Both with spear,byll, and brande;Yt was a myghti sight to se;Hardyar men, both off hart nar hande,45Wear not in Christiantè.
The wear twenty hondrith spear-men good,Withowtè any feale;The wear borne along be the watter a Twyde,Yth' bowndes of Tividale.50
"Leave of the brytlyng of the dear," he sayde,"And to yourbowyslock ye tayk good heed;For never sithe ye wear on your mothars borneHad ye never so mickle ned."
The dougheti Dogglas on a stede55He rode att his men beforne;His armor glytteryde as dyd a glede;A bolder barne was never born.
"Tell me whos men ye ar," he says,"Or whos men that ye be:60Who gave youe leave to hunte in this Chyviat chays,In the spyt of me?"
The first mane that ever him an answear mayd,Yt was the good lord Persè:"We wyll not tell the whoys men we ar," he says,65"Nor whos men that we be;But we wyll hount hear in this chays,In the spyt of thyne and of the.
"The fattiste hartes in all ChyviatWe have kyld, and cast to carry them a-way:"70"Be my troth," sayd the doughtè Dogglasagayn,"Ther-for the ton of us shall de this day."
Then sayd the doughtè DoglasUnto the lord Persè:"To kyll all thes giltles men,75Alas, it wear great pittè!
"But, Persè, thowe art a lord of lande,I am a yerle callyd within my contrè;Let all our men uppone a parti stande,And do the battell off the and of me."80
"Nowe Cristes cors on his crowne,"sayd thelord Persè,"Whosoever ther-to says nay;Be my troth, doughttè Doglas," he says,"Thow shalt never se that day.
"Nethar in Ynglonde, Skottlonde, nar France,85Nor for no man of a woman born,But, and fortune be my chance,I dar met him, on man for on."
Then bespayke a squyar off Northombarlonde,Richard Wytharyngton was him nam;90"It shall never be told in Sothe-Ynglonde," he says,"To kyng Herry the fourth for sham.
"I wat youe byn great lordes twaw,I am a poor squyar of lande;I wyll never se my captayne fyght on a fylde,95And stande myselffe, and loocke on,But whyll I may my weppone welde,I wyll not [fayl] both hart and hande."
That day, that day, that dredfull day!The first fit here I fynde;100And youe wyll here any mor a' the hountyng a' the Chyviat,Yet ys ther mor behynd.
5. magger.11. The the.13. archardes.14. By theseshyars threis probably meant three districts in Northumberland, which still go by the name ofshires, and are all in the neighbourhood of Cheviot. These areIslandshire, being the district so named from Holy-Island:Norehamshire, so called from the town and castle of Noreham (or Norham): andBamboroughshire, the ward or hundred belonging to Bamborough-castle and town.—Percy.31. blwe a mot.41. ath the.43. brylly.52. boys.71. agay.81. sayd the the.99. "That day, that day, that gentil day," is cited inThe Complaynt of Scotland, (ii. 101,) not, we imagine, as thetitleof a ballad (any more than "The Persee and the Mongumrye met,"ante, p. 19,) but as a line by which the song containing it might be recalled.
5. magger.
11. The the.
13. archardes.
14. By theseshyars threis probably meant three districts in Northumberland, which still go by the name ofshires, and are all in the neighbourhood of Cheviot. These areIslandshire, being the district so named from Holy-Island:Norehamshire, so called from the town and castle of Noreham (or Norham): andBamboroughshire, the ward or hundred belonging to Bamborough-castle and town.—Percy.
31. blwe a mot.
41. ath the.
43. brylly.
52. boys.
71. agay.
81. sayd the the.
99. "That day, that day, that gentil day," is cited inThe Complaynt of Scotland, (ii. 101,) not, we imagine, as thetitleof a ballad (any more than "The Persee and the Mongumrye met,"ante, p. 19,) but as a line by which the song containing it might be recalled.
The Yngglyshe men hade ther bowys yebent,Ther hartes were good yenoughe;The first off arros that the shote off,Seven skore spear-men the sloughe.Yet byddys the yerle Doglas uppon the bent,5A captayne good yenoughe,And that was sene verament,For he wrought hom both woo and wouche.The Dogglas pertyd his ost or thre,Lyk a cheffe cheften off pryde,10With suar spears off myghttè tre,The cum in on every syde:Thrughe our Yngglyshe archeryGave many a wounde full wyde;Many a doughete the garde to dy,15Which ganyde them no pryde.The Ynglyshe men let thearbowysbe,And pulde owt brandes that werbright;It was a hevy syght to seBryght swordes on basnites lyght.20Throrowe ryche male and myneyeple,Many sterne the strokedownestreght;Many a freyke that was full fre,Ther undar foot dyd lyght.At last the Duglas and the Persè met,25Lyk to captayns of myght and of mayne;The swapte togethar tyll the both swat,With swordes that wear of fyn myllàn.Thes worthè freckys for to fyght,Ther-to the wear full fayne,30Tyll the bloode owte off thear basnetes sprente,As ever dyd heal orrayne."Holdethe, Persè," sayde the Doglas,"And i' feth I shall the bryngeWher thowe shalte have a yerls wagis35Of Jamy ourScottishkynge."Thoue shalte have thy ransom fre,I hight the hear this thinge,For the manfullyste man yet art thowe,That ever I conqueryd in filde fightyng."40"Nay," sayd the lord Persè,"I tolde it the beforne,That I wolde never yeldyde beTo no man of a woman born."With that ther caman arrowehastely,45Forthe off a myghttè wane;Hit hathe strekene the yerle DuglasIn at the brest bane.Throroue lyvar and longs, batheThe sharp arrowe ys gane,50That never after in all his lyffe-days,He spayke mo wordes but ane:That was, "Fyghte ye, my myrry men, whyllys ye may,For my lyff-days ben gan."The Persè leanyde on his brande,55And sawe the Duglas de;He tooke the dede mane be the hande,And sayd, "Wo ys me for the!"To have savyde thy lyffe, I wolde have pertyde withMy landes for years thre,60For a better man, of hart nare of hande,Was not in all the north contrè."Off all that se a Skottishe knyght,Was callyd Sir Hewe the Monggonbyrry;He sawe the Duglas to the deth was dyght,65He spendyd a spear, a trusti tre:—He rod uppon a corsiareThroughe a hondrith archery:He never stynttyde, nar never blane,Tyll he cam to the good lord Persè.70He set uppone the lord PersèA dynte that was full soare;With a suar spear of a myghttè treClean thorow the body he the Persè ber,A' the tothar syde that a man myght se75A large cloth yard and mare:Towe bettar captayns wear nat in Cristiantè,Then that day slain wear ther.An archar off NorthomberlondeSay slean was the lord Persè;80He bar a bende-bowe in his hand,Was made off trusti tre.An arow, that a cloth yarde was lang,To th' harde stele haylde he;A dynt that was both sad and soar,85He sat on Sir Hewe the Monggonbyrry.The dynt yt was both sad andsoar,That heonMonggonberry sete;The swane-fethars, that his arrowe bar,With his hart-blood the wear wete.90Ther was never a freak wone foot wolde fle,But still in stour dyd stand,Heawyng on yche othar, whyll the myght dre,With many a balfull brande.This battell begane in Chyviat95An owarbefor the none,And when even-song bell was rang,The battell was nat half done.The tooke on ethar handBe the lyght off the mone;100Many hade no strength for to stande,In Chyviat the hillysaboun.Of fifteen hondrith archars of YnglondeWent away but fifti and thre;Of twenty hondrith spear-men of Skotlonde,105But even five and fifti:But all wear slayne Cheviat within;The hade no strenge to stand on hy;The chylde may rue that ys unborne,It was the mor pittè.110Thear was slayne withe the lord Persè,Sir John of Agerstone,Sir Rogar, the hinde Hartly,Sir Wyllyam, the bolde Hearone.Sir Jorg, the worthèLovele,115A knyght of great renowen,Sir Raff, the ryche Rugbè,With dyntes wear beaten dowene.For Wetharryngton my harte was wo,That ever he slayne shulde be;120For when both his leggis wear hewyne in to,Yet he knyled and fought on hys kny.Ther was slayne with the dougheti Duglas,Sir Hewe the Monggonbyrry,Sir DavyLwdale, that worthè was,125His sistars son was he:His Charls a Murrè in that place,That never a foot wolde fle;Sir Hewe Maxwell, a lorde he was,With the Doglas dyd he dey.130So on the morrowe the mayde them byearsOff birch and hasell sogray;Many wedous with wepyng tearsCam to fach ther makys away.Tivydale may carpe off care,135Northombarlond may mayk grat mon,For towe such captayns as slayne wear thear,On the March-perti shall never be non.Word ys commen to Eddenburrowe,To Jamy the Skottishe kyng,140That dougheti Duglas, lyff-tenant of the Merches,He lay slean Chyviot with-in.His handdes dyd he weal and wryng,He sayd, "Alas, and woe ys me!"Such an othar captayn Skotland within,145He sayd, ye-feth shuld never be.Worde ys commyn to lovly Londone,Till the fourth Harry our kyng,That lord Persè,leyff-tenante of the Merchis,He lay slayne Chyviat within.150"God have merci on his soll," sayd kyng Harry,"Good lord, yf thy will it be!I have a hondrith captayns in Ynglonde," he sayd,"As good as ever was he:But Persè, and I brook my lyffe,155Thy deth well quyte shall be."As our noble kyng mayd his a-vowe,Lyke a noble prince of renowen,For the deth of the lord PersèHe dyde the battell of Hombyll-down:160Wher syx and thritté Skottishe knyghtesOn a day wear beaten down:Glendaleglytteryde on ther armor bryght,Over castill, towar, and town.This was the Hontynge off the Cheviat;165That tear begane this spurn:Old men that knowen the grownde well yenoughe,Call it the Battell of Otterburn.At Otterburn began this spurneUppon aMonnynday:170Ther was the dougghtè Doglas slean,The Persè never went away.Ther was never a tym on the March-partesSen the Doglas and the Persè met,But yt was marvele, and the rede blude ronne not,175As the reane doys in the stret.Jhesue Christ our ballys bete,And to the blys us brynge!Thus was the Hountynge of the Chivyat:God send us all good endyng!180
The Yngglyshe men hade ther bowys yebent,Ther hartes were good yenoughe;The first off arros that the shote off,Seven skore spear-men the sloughe.
Yet byddys the yerle Doglas uppon the bent,5A captayne good yenoughe,And that was sene verament,For he wrought hom both woo and wouche.
The Dogglas pertyd his ost or thre,Lyk a cheffe cheften off pryde,10With suar spears off myghttè tre,The cum in on every syde:
Thrughe our Yngglyshe archeryGave many a wounde full wyde;Many a doughete the garde to dy,15Which ganyde them no pryde.
The Ynglyshe men let thearbowysbe,And pulde owt brandes that werbright;It was a hevy syght to seBryght swordes on basnites lyght.20
Throrowe ryche male and myneyeple,Many sterne the strokedownestreght;Many a freyke that was full fre,Ther undar foot dyd lyght.
At last the Duglas and the Persè met,25Lyk to captayns of myght and of mayne;The swapte togethar tyll the both swat,With swordes that wear of fyn myllàn.
Thes worthè freckys for to fyght,Ther-to the wear full fayne,30Tyll the bloode owte off thear basnetes sprente,As ever dyd heal orrayne.
"Holdethe, Persè," sayde the Doglas,"And i' feth I shall the bryngeWher thowe shalte have a yerls wagis35Of Jamy ourScottishkynge.
"Thoue shalte have thy ransom fre,I hight the hear this thinge,For the manfullyste man yet art thowe,That ever I conqueryd in filde fightyng."40
"Nay," sayd the lord Persè,"I tolde it the beforne,That I wolde never yeldyde beTo no man of a woman born."
With that ther caman arrowehastely,45Forthe off a myghttè wane;Hit hathe strekene the yerle DuglasIn at the brest bane.
Throroue lyvar and longs, batheThe sharp arrowe ys gane,50That never after in all his lyffe-days,He spayke mo wordes but ane:That was, "Fyghte ye, my myrry men, whyllys ye may,For my lyff-days ben gan."
The Persè leanyde on his brande,55And sawe the Duglas de;He tooke the dede mane be the hande,And sayd, "Wo ys me for the!
"To have savyde thy lyffe, I wolde have pertyde withMy landes for years thre,60For a better man, of hart nare of hande,Was not in all the north contrè."
Off all that se a Skottishe knyght,Was callyd Sir Hewe the Monggonbyrry;He sawe the Duglas to the deth was dyght,65He spendyd a spear, a trusti tre:—
He rod uppon a corsiareThroughe a hondrith archery:He never stynttyde, nar never blane,Tyll he cam to the good lord Persè.70
He set uppone the lord PersèA dynte that was full soare;With a suar spear of a myghttè treClean thorow the body he the Persè ber,
A' the tothar syde that a man myght se75A large cloth yard and mare:Towe bettar captayns wear nat in Cristiantè,Then that day slain wear ther.
An archar off NorthomberlondeSay slean was the lord Persè;80He bar a bende-bowe in his hand,Was made off trusti tre.
An arow, that a cloth yarde was lang,To th' harde stele haylde he;A dynt that was both sad and soar,85He sat on Sir Hewe the Monggonbyrry.
The dynt yt was both sad andsoar,That heonMonggonberry sete;The swane-fethars, that his arrowe bar,With his hart-blood the wear wete.90
Ther was never a freak wone foot wolde fle,But still in stour dyd stand,Heawyng on yche othar, whyll the myght dre,With many a balfull brande.
This battell begane in Chyviat95An owarbefor the none,And when even-song bell was rang,The battell was nat half done.
The tooke on ethar handBe the lyght off the mone;100Many hade no strength for to stande,In Chyviat the hillysaboun.
Of fifteen hondrith archars of YnglondeWent away but fifti and thre;Of twenty hondrith spear-men of Skotlonde,105But even five and fifti:
But all wear slayne Cheviat within;The hade no strenge to stand on hy;The chylde may rue that ys unborne,It was the mor pittè.110
Thear was slayne withe the lord Persè,Sir John of Agerstone,Sir Rogar, the hinde Hartly,Sir Wyllyam, the bolde Hearone.
Sir Jorg, the worthèLovele,115A knyght of great renowen,Sir Raff, the ryche Rugbè,With dyntes wear beaten dowene.
For Wetharryngton my harte was wo,That ever he slayne shulde be;120For when both his leggis wear hewyne in to,Yet he knyled and fought on hys kny.
Ther was slayne with the dougheti Duglas,Sir Hewe the Monggonbyrry,Sir DavyLwdale, that worthè was,125His sistars son was he:
His Charls a Murrè in that place,That never a foot wolde fle;Sir Hewe Maxwell, a lorde he was,With the Doglas dyd he dey.130
So on the morrowe the mayde them byearsOff birch and hasell sogray;Many wedous with wepyng tearsCam to fach ther makys away.
Tivydale may carpe off care,135Northombarlond may mayk grat mon,For towe such captayns as slayne wear thear,On the March-perti shall never be non.
Word ys commen to Eddenburrowe,To Jamy the Skottishe kyng,140That dougheti Duglas, lyff-tenant of the Merches,He lay slean Chyviot with-in.
His handdes dyd he weal and wryng,He sayd, "Alas, and woe ys me!"Such an othar captayn Skotland within,145He sayd, ye-feth shuld never be.
Worde ys commyn to lovly Londone,Till the fourth Harry our kyng,That lord Persè,leyff-tenante of the Merchis,He lay slayne Chyviat within.150
"God have merci on his soll," sayd kyng Harry,"Good lord, yf thy will it be!I have a hondrith captayns in Ynglonde," he sayd,"As good as ever was he:But Persè, and I brook my lyffe,155Thy deth well quyte shall be."
As our noble kyng mayd his a-vowe,Lyke a noble prince of renowen,For the deth of the lord PersèHe dyde the battell of Hombyll-down:160
Wher syx and thritté Skottishe knyghtesOn a day wear beaten down:Glendaleglytteryde on ther armor bryght,Over castill, towar, and town.
This was the Hontynge off the Cheviat;165That tear begane this spurn:Old men that knowen the grownde well yenoughe,Call it the Battell of Otterburn.
At Otterburn began this spurneUppon aMonnynday:170Ther was the dougghtè Doglas slean,The Persè never went away.
Ther was never a tym on the March-partesSen the Doglas and the Persè met,But yt was marvele, and the rede blude ronne not,175As the reane doys in the stret.
Jhesue Christ our ballys bete,And to the blys us brynge!Thus was the Hountynge of the Chivyat:God send us all good endyng!180