THE BOY OF EGREMOND.

By John Bird.

William de Meschinesand Cecily de Romille his wife, founders of Embsay Priory, (says Dr. Whitaker,) were now dead, and had left a daughter, Alice, who adopted her mother's name, Romille, and was married to William Fitz-Duncan, nephew of David, king of Scotland. They had issue a son, commonly called theBoy of Egremond,[58]who, surviving an elder brother, became the last hope of the family.

In the deep solitude of the woods, betwixt Bolton and Barden, in Craven, four miles up the river, the Wharfe suddenly contracts itself to a rocky channel, little more than four feet wide, and pours through the tremendous fissure with a rapidity proportioned to its confinement.The place was then, as it is yet, calledthe Strid, from a feat often exercised by persons of more agility than prudence, who stride from brink to brink, regardless of the destruction which awaits a faltering step. Such was the fate of young Romille, who inconsiderately bounded over the chasm, with a greyhound in his leash, the animal hung back and drew his unfortunate master into the torrent. The misfortune is said to have occasioned the translation of the priory from Embsay to Bolton, which was the nearest eligible site to the place where it happened.

This priory existed upwards of four hundred years, when it was surrendered by Richard Moon, the prior, and fourteen of his brethren, on the 26th Jan. 1540. On the 3rd April, 1542, the site was granted to Henry Clifford, first earl of Cumberland, but nineteen days before his death, for the sum of 2,490l; from him it has descended to the present owner, the duke of Devonshire.

"Rise up, rise up, my noble boy,The morn is fresh and fair;The laughing rays look out with joy,Rich balm is on the air:—Rise up, rise up, my gallant son,Nor let there story be,That hawk was flown, or heron won,Unseen, unheard, of thee!"The boy rose up, that noble boy,He knelt down at her knee;—And, oh, it was a sight of joy,That lady's joy to see!She parted back his golden hair,She kist his bonny brow—"I would each mother's heart might shareThy mother's gladness now!"For thou art fair, and more than fair,Gentle in word and thought;—Yet, oh, my son, brave boy, bewareOf dangers love hath taught!""Trust me," he cried, and smiling wentTo range the valleys green;And many as fair and fond intentAs dark an end hath seen.Bright on his path the dewdrops lay—Rich gems of nature's court;The foot that chased their light away,Seem'd but to fall in sport—Seem'd but the joy of him whose boundForgot its speed, to hearThe warbling lark, or win the houndFrom his own wild career.And never shone fair Bolton's valeSo beautiful as now,And ne'er beneath the sportive galeDid Wharfe so calmly flow."Hark! hark! on Barden-fell the hornOf the blithe hunter rings,Buscar! they rouse a stag this morn;Oh, sweet the bugle sings."Away, away, they speed with joy,The frolic hound and he,Proud Egremond's far boasted boy,That gallant chase to see.Why pause they in their course?—'tis whereThe stream impetuous flowsThrough the dark rocks, that, meeting there,Its onward path oppose!Yet, oh, the gush, the fearful gush,Of the wild water's strife!On that loud eddying flood to rush,Were but to sport with life!Yet one true gaze—one gallant bound—And the dread gulf is past!"Be firm and fleet, my faithful hound!"That spring—it was his last!Held in a leash, that craven hound,Faltered in fear, and gaveHis master to the gulf profound—A swift and sudden grave!One flash of light—one look that tellsOf late and vain remorse—And a dark mass the current swellsFar on its rapid course!Still beautiful is Bolton's vale,Still Wharfe's bright waters thereTrace through long years the mournful tale,That bids rash youth beware.There through its chasm the fatal floodStill pours the ceaseless wave,Where the bright boy one moment stood,And sprang—to find a grave!Fair Bolton's Abbey yet recordsThe lady's sorrowing part,And silent walls, e'en more than words,May wake the slumbering heart.Ye, then, who mourn her gentle son,Whelm'd in the fearful Strid,Think on a mother's love, and shunThe paths her lips forbid!

"Rise up, rise up, my noble boy,

The morn is fresh and fair;

The laughing rays look out with joy,

Rich balm is on the air:—

Rise up, rise up, my gallant son,

Nor let there story be,

That hawk was flown, or heron won,

Unseen, unheard, of thee!"

The boy rose up, that noble boy,He knelt down at her knee;—And, oh, it was a sight of joy,That lady's joy to see!She parted back his golden hair,She kist his bonny brow—"I would each mother's heart might shareThy mother's gladness now!

The boy rose up, that noble boy,

He knelt down at her knee;—

And, oh, it was a sight of joy,

That lady's joy to see!

She parted back his golden hair,

She kist his bonny brow—

"I would each mother's heart might share

Thy mother's gladness now!

"For thou art fair, and more than fair,Gentle in word and thought;—Yet, oh, my son, brave boy, bewareOf dangers love hath taught!""Trust me," he cried, and smiling wentTo range the valleys green;And many as fair and fond intentAs dark an end hath seen.

"For thou art fair, and more than fair,

Gentle in word and thought;—

Yet, oh, my son, brave boy, beware

Of dangers love hath taught!"

"Trust me," he cried, and smiling went

To range the valleys green;

And many as fair and fond intent

As dark an end hath seen.

Bright on his path the dewdrops lay—Rich gems of nature's court;The foot that chased their light away,Seem'd but to fall in sport—Seem'd but the joy of him whose boundForgot its speed, to hearThe warbling lark, or win the houndFrom his own wild career.

Bright on his path the dewdrops lay—

Rich gems of nature's court;

The foot that chased their light away,

Seem'd but to fall in sport—

Seem'd but the joy of him whose bound

Forgot its speed, to hear

The warbling lark, or win the hound

From his own wild career.

And never shone fair Bolton's valeSo beautiful as now,And ne'er beneath the sportive galeDid Wharfe so calmly flow."Hark! hark! on Barden-fell the hornOf the blithe hunter rings,Buscar! they rouse a stag this morn;Oh, sweet the bugle sings."

And never shone fair Bolton's vale

So beautiful as now,

And ne'er beneath the sportive gale

Did Wharfe so calmly flow.

"Hark! hark! on Barden-fell the horn

Of the blithe hunter rings,

Buscar! they rouse a stag this morn;

Oh, sweet the bugle sings."

Away, away, they speed with joy,The frolic hound and he,Proud Egremond's far boasted boy,That gallant chase to see.Why pause they in their course?—'tis whereThe stream impetuous flowsThrough the dark rocks, that, meeting there,Its onward path oppose!

Away, away, they speed with joy,

The frolic hound and he,

Proud Egremond's far boasted boy,

That gallant chase to see.

Why pause they in their course?—'tis where

The stream impetuous flows

Through the dark rocks, that, meeting there,

Its onward path oppose!

Yet, oh, the gush, the fearful gush,Of the wild water's strife!On that loud eddying flood to rush,Were but to sport with life!Yet one true gaze—one gallant bound—And the dread gulf is past!"Be firm and fleet, my faithful hound!"That spring—it was his last!

Yet, oh, the gush, the fearful gush,

Of the wild water's strife!

On that loud eddying flood to rush,

Were but to sport with life!

Yet one true gaze—one gallant bound—

And the dread gulf is past!

"Be firm and fleet, my faithful hound!"

That spring—it was his last!

Held in a leash, that craven hound,Faltered in fear, and gaveHis master to the gulf profound—A swift and sudden grave!One flash of light—one look that tellsOf late and vain remorse—And a dark mass the current swellsFar on its rapid course!

Held in a leash, that craven hound,

Faltered in fear, and gave

His master to the gulf profound—

A swift and sudden grave!

One flash of light—one look that tells

Of late and vain remorse—

And a dark mass the current swells

Far on its rapid course!

Still beautiful is Bolton's vale,Still Wharfe's bright waters thereTrace through long years the mournful tale,That bids rash youth beware.There through its chasm the fatal floodStill pours the ceaseless wave,Where the bright boy one moment stood,And sprang—to find a grave!

Still beautiful is Bolton's vale,

Still Wharfe's bright waters there

Trace through long years the mournful tale,

That bids rash youth beware.

There through its chasm the fatal flood

Still pours the ceaseless wave,

Where the bright boy one moment stood,

And sprang—to find a grave!

Fair Bolton's Abbey yet recordsThe lady's sorrowing part,And silent walls, e'en more than words,May wake the slumbering heart.Ye, then, who mourn her gentle son,Whelm'd in the fearful Strid,Think on a mother's love, and shunThe paths her lips forbid!

Fair Bolton's Abbey yet records

The lady's sorrowing part,

And silent walls, e'en more than words,

May wake the slumbering heart.

Ye, then, who mourn her gentle son,

Whelm'd in the fearful Strid,

Think on a mother's love, and shun

The paths her lips forbid!

Richard II., son of the Black Prince, was born in 1366, and succeeded his grandfather Edward III., on the throne of England, 1377; murdered in 1392. Historians differ with regard to the manner in which he was murdered. It was long the prevailing opinion that sir Piers Exton, and others of his guards, fell upon him in Pontefract castle, and that the king, wresting a pole-axe from one of the murderers, soon laid four of their number dead at his feet; but at length being overpowered, he was struck dead with a blow of a pole-axe.

"O Pomfret, Pomfret, O thou bloody prison!Fatal and ominous to noble Peers!Within the guilty closure of thy walls,Richard the Second here was hack'd to death."Shakspeare'sRichard III.

"O Pomfret, Pomfret, O thou bloody prison!Fatal and ominous to noble Peers!Within the guilty closure of thy walls,Richard the Second here was hack'd to death."

"O Pomfret, Pomfret, O thou bloody prison!

Fatal and ominous to noble Peers!

Within the guilty closure of thy walls,

Richard the Second here was hack'd to death."

Shakspeare'sRichard III.

But it is more probable that he was starved to death; and after all sustenance was denied him, he prolonged his unhappy life, it is said, for a fortnight, before he reached the end of his miseries. This account is more consistent with the story that his body was exposed in public, and that no marks of violence were found upon it.

When Richard the Second in England was king,And reign'd with honour and state,Six uncles he had, his grandfather's sons,King Edward that ruled of late;All counsellors noble and sage;Yet would he not hearTheir precepts dear,So wilful he was, in this his young age.A sort of brave gallants he kept in his court,That train'd him to wanton delights,Which parasites pleased him better in mind,Than all his best nobles and knights:Ambition and avarice grewSo great in this land,That still from his handA mass of rich treasure his parasites drew.His peers and his barons dishonoured were;And upstarts thus mounted on high;His commons sore tax'd, his cities oppress'd,Good subjects were nothing set by;And what to his coffers did come,He wantonly spent,To please with contentHis flattering upstarts, still sporting at home.When thus unto ruin this kingdom began,To fall from the highest estate,The nobles of England their prince's amiss,By parliament soon did rebate;And likewise those flatterers all,They banish'd the court,That made but a sportTo see this so famous a kingdom to fall.But after these gallants degraded were thus,King Richard himself was put down,And Bullinbrook, Lancaster's noble-born dukeBy policy purchased his crown.Thus civil wars here begun,That could have no end,By foe nor by friend,Till seven kings' reigns, with their lives were out-run.But Richard, the breeder of all these same broils,In prison was wofully cast,Where long he complain'd, in sorrowful sort,Of kingly authority past:No lords nor no subjects had he,No glory, no state,That early and lateUpon him attending had wont for to be.His robes were converted to garments so old,That beggars would hardly them wear;His diet no comfort at all to him brought,For he fed upon sorrow and care.And from prison to prison was sent,Each day, and each night,To work him despight,That, wearied with sorrows, he still might lament.Poor king, thus abused, he was at the lastTo Pomfret in Yorkshire convey'd,And there in a dungeon, full low in the ground,Unpitied, he nightly was laid:Not one for his misery grieved,That late was in placeOf royallest grace,Where still the distress'd he kindly relieved.King Henry usurping then all his estate,Could never in heart be content,Till some of his friends in secresy soughtTo kill him by cruel consent;Who soon to Pomfret hied,Whereas the fear,That touch'd him so near,They finish'd as soon as king Richard there died.There dy'd this good king, for murther'd he was,That might well have lived full long,Had not ill counsel betray'd his best good,And done his high fortunes this wrong:But blood for blood still calls,No bloody-stain'd handCan long in this landStand surely, but soon into misery falls.Lancaster thus the diadem gain'd,And won his title by blood,Which afterwards by heaven's high power,Not three generations stood,But yielded to York again:Thus fortune showsTheir proud overthrows,That cunningly climb an imperial reign.

When Richard the Second in England was king,

And reign'd with honour and state,

Six uncles he had, his grandfather's sons,

King Edward that ruled of late;

All counsellors noble and sage;

Yet would he not hear

Their precepts dear,

So wilful he was, in this his young age.

A sort of brave gallants he kept in his court,That train'd him to wanton delights,Which parasites pleased him better in mind,Than all his best nobles and knights:Ambition and avarice grewSo great in this land,That still from his handA mass of rich treasure his parasites drew.

A sort of brave gallants he kept in his court,

That train'd him to wanton delights,

Which parasites pleased him better in mind,

Than all his best nobles and knights:

Ambition and avarice grew

So great in this land,

That still from his hand

A mass of rich treasure his parasites drew.

His peers and his barons dishonoured were;And upstarts thus mounted on high;His commons sore tax'd, his cities oppress'd,Good subjects were nothing set by;And what to his coffers did come,He wantonly spent,To please with contentHis flattering upstarts, still sporting at home.

His peers and his barons dishonoured were;

And upstarts thus mounted on high;

His commons sore tax'd, his cities oppress'd,

Good subjects were nothing set by;

And what to his coffers did come,

He wantonly spent,

To please with content

His flattering upstarts, still sporting at home.

When thus unto ruin this kingdom began,To fall from the highest estate,The nobles of England their prince's amiss,By parliament soon did rebate;And likewise those flatterers all,They banish'd the court,That made but a sportTo see this so famous a kingdom to fall.

When thus unto ruin this kingdom began,

To fall from the highest estate,

The nobles of England their prince's amiss,

By parliament soon did rebate;

And likewise those flatterers all,

They banish'd the court,

That made but a sport

To see this so famous a kingdom to fall.

But after these gallants degraded were thus,King Richard himself was put down,And Bullinbrook, Lancaster's noble-born dukeBy policy purchased his crown.Thus civil wars here begun,That could have no end,By foe nor by friend,Till seven kings' reigns, with their lives were out-run.

But after these gallants degraded were thus,

King Richard himself was put down,

And Bullinbrook, Lancaster's noble-born duke

By policy purchased his crown.

Thus civil wars here begun,

That could have no end,

By foe nor by friend,

Till seven kings' reigns, with their lives were out-run.

But Richard, the breeder of all these same broils,In prison was wofully cast,Where long he complain'd, in sorrowful sort,Of kingly authority past:No lords nor no subjects had he,No glory, no state,That early and lateUpon him attending had wont for to be.

But Richard, the breeder of all these same broils,

In prison was wofully cast,

Where long he complain'd, in sorrowful sort,

Of kingly authority past:

No lords nor no subjects had he,

No glory, no state,

That early and late

Upon him attending had wont for to be.

His robes were converted to garments so old,That beggars would hardly them wear;His diet no comfort at all to him brought,For he fed upon sorrow and care.And from prison to prison was sent,Each day, and each night,To work him despight,That, wearied with sorrows, he still might lament.

His robes were converted to garments so old,

That beggars would hardly them wear;

His diet no comfort at all to him brought,

For he fed upon sorrow and care.

And from prison to prison was sent,

Each day, and each night,

To work him despight,

That, wearied with sorrows, he still might lament.

Poor king, thus abused, he was at the lastTo Pomfret in Yorkshire convey'd,And there in a dungeon, full low in the ground,Unpitied, he nightly was laid:Not one for his misery grieved,That late was in placeOf royallest grace,Where still the distress'd he kindly relieved.

Poor king, thus abused, he was at the last

To Pomfret in Yorkshire convey'd,

And there in a dungeon, full low in the ground,

Unpitied, he nightly was laid:

Not one for his misery grieved,

That late was in place

Of royallest grace,

Where still the distress'd he kindly relieved.

King Henry usurping then all his estate,Could never in heart be content,Till some of his friends in secresy soughtTo kill him by cruel consent;Who soon to Pomfret hied,Whereas the fear,That touch'd him so near,They finish'd as soon as king Richard there died.

King Henry usurping then all his estate,

Could never in heart be content,

Till some of his friends in secresy sought

To kill him by cruel consent;

Who soon to Pomfret hied,

Whereas the fear,

That touch'd him so near,

They finish'd as soon as king Richard there died.

There dy'd this good king, for murther'd he was,That might well have lived full long,Had not ill counsel betray'd his best good,And done his high fortunes this wrong:But blood for blood still calls,No bloody-stain'd handCan long in this landStand surely, but soon into misery falls.

There dy'd this good king, for murther'd he was,

That might well have lived full long,

Had not ill counsel betray'd his best good,

And done his high fortunes this wrong:

But blood for blood still calls,

No bloody-stain'd hand

Can long in this land

Stand surely, but soon into misery falls.

Lancaster thus the diadem gain'd,And won his title by blood,Which afterwards by heaven's high power,Not three generations stood,But yielded to York again:Thus fortune showsTheir proud overthrows,That cunningly climb an imperial reign.

Lancaster thus the diadem gain'd,

And won his title by blood,

Which afterwards by heaven's high power,

Not three generations stood,

But yielded to York again:

Thus fortune shows

Their proud overthrows,

That cunningly climb an imperial reign.

Thiscurious ballad was first published in Dr. Whitaker's "History of Craven," in 1805, but, from an inaccurate manuscript, not corrected very happily. It was transferred by Mr. Evans to the new edition of his Ballads, with some well-judged conjectural improvements. Sir Walter Scott, in "Rokeby," has given a more authentic and full, though still animperfect, edition of this humoursome composition, from being furnished with a copy from a manuscript in the possession of Mr. Rokeby, of Northamptonshire, descended of the ancient barons of Rokeby. It has three or four stanzas more than that of Dr. Whitaker, and the language seems, where they differ, to have the more ancient and genuine readings.

Ralph Rokeby, esq. who bestowed this intractable animal on the convent of Richmond, seems to have flourished in the time of Henry VII., which, since we know not the date of Friar Theobald's wardenship, to which the ballad refers us, may indicate that of the composition itself.

Ye men that will of aunters[59]winne,That late within this land hath beene,Of one I will you tell;And of a sew that was sea strang,Alas! that ever she lived sae lang,For fell[60]folk did she whell.[61]She was mare than other three,The grisliest beast that ere might be,Her head was great and gray:She was bred in Rokeby wood,There were few that thither goed,That came on live[62]away.Her walk was endlong[63]Greta side;There was no bren that durst her bide,That was froe heaven or hell;Nor never man that had that might,That ever durst come in her sight,Her force it was so fell.Ralph[64]of Rokeby, with good will,The fryers of Richmond gave her till,[65]Full well to garre[66]them fareFryer Middleton by his name,He was sent to fetch her hame,That rued him sine full sare.With him tooke he wicht men two,Peter Dale was one of thoe,That ever was brim as beare,[67]And well durst strike with sword and knife,And fight full manly for his life,What time as mister ware.[68]These three men went at God's will,This wicked sew while they came till,Liggan under a tree;Rugg and rusty was her haire;She raise up with a felon fare,[69]To fight against the three.She was so grisley for to meete,She rave the earth up with her feete,And bark came fro the tree;When fryer Middleton her saugh,Weet ye well he might not laugh,Full earnestly look'd hee.These men of aunters that was so wight,[70]They bound them bauldly for to fight,And strike at her full sare:Until a kiln they garred her flee,Wold God send them the victory,The wold ask him noa mare.The sew was in the kiln hole down,As they were on the balke aboon,For hurting of their feet;They were so saulted with this sew,That among them was a stalworth stew,The kiln began to reeke.Durst noe man neigh her with his hand,But put a rape down with his wand,And haltered her full meete;They hurled her forth against her will,Whiles they came into a hill,A little fro the street.[71]And there she made them such a fray,If they should live to doomes-day,They tharrow[72]it ne'er forgett;She braded[73]upon every side,And ran on them gaping full wide,For nothing would she lett.[74]She gave such brades[75]at the band,That Peter Dale had in his hand,He might not hold his feet.She chafed them to and fro,The wight men was never soe woe,Their measure was not so meete.She bound her boldly to abide;To Peter Dale she came aside,With many a hideous yell;She gaped soe wide, and cried soe hee,The fryer said, "I conjure thee,[76]Thou art a feind of hell!"Thou art come hither for some traine,[77]I conjure thee to go againeWhere thou wast wont to dwell."He sayned[78]him with crosse and creede,Took forth a book, began to readeIn St. John his gospell.The sew she would not Latin heare,But rudely rushed at the frear,That blinked all his blee;[79]And when she would have taken her hold,The fryer leaped as Jesus[80]wold,And bealed him[81]with a tree.She was as brim as any beare,For all their meete to labour there,[82]To them it was no boote:Upon trees and bushes that by her stood,She ranged as she was wood,[83]And rave them up by roote.He sayd, "Alas, that I was frear!And I shall be rugged[84]in sunder here,Hard is my destinie!Wist my brethren in this houre,That I was sett in such a stoure,[85]They would pray for me."This wicked beast that wrought this woe,Tooke that rape from the other two,And then they fled all three;They fled away by Watling-street,They had no succour but their feet,It was the more pity.The feild it was both lost and wonne,[86]The sew went hame, and that full soone,To Morton[87]on the greene;When Ralph of Rokeby saw the rape,[88]He wist that there had been debate,Whereat the sew had beene.He bade them stand out of her way,For she had had a sudden fray,—"I saw never sew so keene;Some new things shall we heare,Of her and Middleton the frear,Some battell hath there beene."But all that served him for nought.Had they not better succour sought,They were served therefore loe.Then Mistress Rokeby[89]came anon,And for her brought shee meate full soone,The sew came her unto.She gyve her meate upon the flower,* * * *[90][Hiatus valde deflendus.]When fryer Middleton came home,His brethren was full fain ilkone,[91]And thanked God for his life;He told them all unto the end,How he had foughten with a fiend,And lived through mickle strife."We gave her battell half a day,And sithin[92]was fain to fly away,For saving of our life;[93]And Peter Dale would never blinn,[94]But as fast as he could ryn,[95]Till he came to his wife."The warden said, "I am full of woe,That ever ye should be torment so,But wee with you had beene!Had wee been there your brethren all,Wee should have garred the warle[96]fall,That wrought you all this teyne."[97]Fryer Middleton said soon, "Nay,In faith you would have fled away,When most mister[98]had beene;You will all speake words at hame,A man would ding you every ilk ane,[99]And if it be as I weine."He look't so griesly all that night,The warden said, "Yon man will fightIf you say aught but good;Yon guest[100]hath grieved him so sare,Hold your tongues, and speake noe mare,He looks as he were woode."The warden waged[101]on the morne,Two boldest men that ever were borne,I weine, or ever shall be;The one was Gilbert, Griffin's son,Full mickle worship has he wonne,Both by land and sea.The other was a bastard son of Spaine,Many a Sarazin hath he slain,His dint hath gart them die.These two men the battle undertooke,Against the sew, as says the booke,And sealed security.That they should boldly bide and fight,And skomfit her in maine and might,Or therefore should they die.The warden sealed to them againe,And said, "In feild if ye be slain,This condition make I:"We shall for you pray, sing, and read,To doomes-day with hearty speede,With all our progeny."Then the letters well was made,Bands bound with seales brade,As deedes of armes should be.These men of armes that weere so wight,With armour and with brandes bright,They went this sew to see;She made on them slike a rerd,[102]That for her they were sare afer'dAnd almost bound to flee.She came roveing them egaine;That saw the bastard son of Spaine,He braded[103]out his brand;Full spiteously at her he strake,For all the fence that he could make,She gat sword out of hand;And rave in sunder half his shielde,And bare him backward in the feilde,He might not her gainstand.She would have riven his privich geare,But Gilbert with his sword of werre,He strake at her full strong,On her shoulder till she held the swerd;Then was good Gilbert sore afer'd,When the blade brake in throng.[104]Since in his hands he hath her tane,She tooke him by the shoulder bane,And held her hold full fast;She strave so stiffly in that stower,[105]That through all his rich armourThe blood came at the last.Then Gilbert grieved was sea sare,That he rave off both hide and haire,The flesh came fro the bone;And with all force he felled her there,And wann her worthily in werre,And band her him alone.And lift her on a horse sea hee,Into two paniers well-made of a tre,And to Richmond they did hay:[106]When they saw her come,They sang merrily Te Deum,The fryers on that day.[107]They thanked God and St. Francis,[108]As they had won the best of pris,[109]And never a man was slaine:There did never a man more manly,Knight Marcus, nor yett sir Gui,Nor Loth of of Louthyane.[110]If ye will any more of this,In the fryers of Richmond 'tisIn parchment good and fine;And how fryer Middleton that was so kend,At Greta bridge conjured a feind,In likeness of a swine.It is well known to many a man,That fryer Theobald was warden than,And this fell in his time;And Christ them bless both farre and neare,All that for solace list this to heare,And him that made the rhime.Ralph Rokeby with full good will,The fryers of Richmond he gave her till,This sew to mend their fare:Fryer Middleton by his name,Would needs bring the fat sew hameThat rued him since full sare.

Ye men that will of aunters[59]winne,

That late within this land hath beene,

Of one I will you tell;

And of a sew that was sea strang,

Alas! that ever she lived sae lang,

For fell[60]folk did she whell.[61]

She was mare than other three,The grisliest beast that ere might be,Her head was great and gray:She was bred in Rokeby wood,There were few that thither goed,That came on live[62]away.

She was mare than other three,

The grisliest beast that ere might be,

Her head was great and gray:

She was bred in Rokeby wood,

There were few that thither goed,

That came on live[62]away.

Her walk was endlong[63]Greta side;There was no bren that durst her bide,That was froe heaven or hell;Nor never man that had that might,That ever durst come in her sight,Her force it was so fell.

Her walk was endlong[63]Greta side;

There was no bren that durst her bide,

That was froe heaven or hell;

Nor never man that had that might,

That ever durst come in her sight,

Her force it was so fell.

Ralph[64]of Rokeby, with good will,The fryers of Richmond gave her till,[65]Full well to garre[66]them fareFryer Middleton by his name,He was sent to fetch her hame,That rued him sine full sare.

Ralph[64]of Rokeby, with good will,

The fryers of Richmond gave her till,[65]

Full well to garre[66]them fare

Fryer Middleton by his name,

He was sent to fetch her hame,

That rued him sine full sare.

With him tooke he wicht men two,Peter Dale was one of thoe,That ever was brim as beare,[67]And well durst strike with sword and knife,And fight full manly for his life,What time as mister ware.[68]

With him tooke he wicht men two,

Peter Dale was one of thoe,

That ever was brim as beare,[67]

And well durst strike with sword and knife,

And fight full manly for his life,

What time as mister ware.[68]

These three men went at God's will,This wicked sew while they came till,Liggan under a tree;Rugg and rusty was her haire;She raise up with a felon fare,[69]To fight against the three.

These three men went at God's will,

This wicked sew while they came till,

Liggan under a tree;

Rugg and rusty was her haire;

She raise up with a felon fare,[69]

To fight against the three.

She was so grisley for to meete,She rave the earth up with her feete,And bark came fro the tree;When fryer Middleton her saugh,Weet ye well he might not laugh,Full earnestly look'd hee.

She was so grisley for to meete,

She rave the earth up with her feete,

And bark came fro the tree;

When fryer Middleton her saugh,

Weet ye well he might not laugh,

Full earnestly look'd hee.

These men of aunters that was so wight,[70]They bound them bauldly for to fight,And strike at her full sare:Until a kiln they garred her flee,Wold God send them the victory,The wold ask him noa mare.

These men of aunters that was so wight,[70]

They bound them bauldly for to fight,

And strike at her full sare:

Until a kiln they garred her flee,

Wold God send them the victory,

The wold ask him noa mare.

The sew was in the kiln hole down,As they were on the balke aboon,For hurting of their feet;They were so saulted with this sew,That among them was a stalworth stew,The kiln began to reeke.

The sew was in the kiln hole down,

As they were on the balke aboon,

For hurting of their feet;

They were so saulted with this sew,

That among them was a stalworth stew,

The kiln began to reeke.

Durst noe man neigh her with his hand,But put a rape down with his wand,And haltered her full meete;They hurled her forth against her will,Whiles they came into a hill,A little fro the street.[71]

Durst noe man neigh her with his hand,

But put a rape down with his wand,

And haltered her full meete;

They hurled her forth against her will,

Whiles they came into a hill,

A little fro the street.[71]

And there she made them such a fray,If they should live to doomes-day,They tharrow[72]it ne'er forgett;She braded[73]upon every side,And ran on them gaping full wide,For nothing would she lett.[74]

And there she made them such a fray,

If they should live to doomes-day,

They tharrow[72]it ne'er forgett;

She braded[73]upon every side,

And ran on them gaping full wide,

For nothing would she lett.[74]

She gave such brades[75]at the band,That Peter Dale had in his hand,He might not hold his feet.She chafed them to and fro,The wight men was never soe woe,Their measure was not so meete.

She gave such brades[75]at the band,

That Peter Dale had in his hand,

He might not hold his feet.

She chafed them to and fro,

The wight men was never soe woe,

Their measure was not so meete.

She bound her boldly to abide;To Peter Dale she came aside,With many a hideous yell;She gaped soe wide, and cried soe hee,The fryer said, "I conjure thee,[76]Thou art a feind of hell!

She bound her boldly to abide;

To Peter Dale she came aside,

With many a hideous yell;

She gaped soe wide, and cried soe hee,

The fryer said, "I conjure thee,[76]

Thou art a feind of hell!

"Thou art come hither for some traine,[77]I conjure thee to go againeWhere thou wast wont to dwell."He sayned[78]him with crosse and creede,Took forth a book, began to readeIn St. John his gospell.

"Thou art come hither for some traine,[77]

I conjure thee to go againe

Where thou wast wont to dwell."

He sayned[78]him with crosse and creede,

Took forth a book, began to reade

In St. John his gospell.

The sew she would not Latin heare,But rudely rushed at the frear,That blinked all his blee;[79]And when she would have taken her hold,The fryer leaped as Jesus[80]wold,And bealed him[81]with a tree.

The sew she would not Latin heare,

But rudely rushed at the frear,

That blinked all his blee;[79]

And when she would have taken her hold,

The fryer leaped as Jesus[80]wold,

And bealed him[81]with a tree.

She was as brim as any beare,For all their meete to labour there,[82]To them it was no boote:Upon trees and bushes that by her stood,She ranged as she was wood,[83]And rave them up by roote.

She was as brim as any beare,

For all their meete to labour there,[82]

To them it was no boote:

Upon trees and bushes that by her stood,

She ranged as she was wood,[83]

And rave them up by roote.

He sayd, "Alas, that I was frear!And I shall be rugged[84]in sunder here,Hard is my destinie!Wist my brethren in this houre,That I was sett in such a stoure,[85]They would pray for me."

He sayd, "Alas, that I was frear!

And I shall be rugged[84]in sunder here,

Hard is my destinie!

Wist my brethren in this houre,

That I was sett in such a stoure,[85]

They would pray for me."

This wicked beast that wrought this woe,Tooke that rape from the other two,And then they fled all three;They fled away by Watling-street,They had no succour but their feet,It was the more pity.

This wicked beast that wrought this woe,

Tooke that rape from the other two,

And then they fled all three;

They fled away by Watling-street,

They had no succour but their feet,

It was the more pity.

The feild it was both lost and wonne,[86]The sew went hame, and that full soone,To Morton[87]on the greene;When Ralph of Rokeby saw the rape,[88]He wist that there had been debate,Whereat the sew had beene.

The feild it was both lost and wonne,[86]

The sew went hame, and that full soone,

To Morton[87]on the greene;

When Ralph of Rokeby saw the rape,[88]

He wist that there had been debate,

Whereat the sew had beene.

He bade them stand out of her way,For she had had a sudden fray,—"I saw never sew so keene;Some new things shall we heare,Of her and Middleton the frear,Some battell hath there beene."

He bade them stand out of her way,

For she had had a sudden fray,—

"I saw never sew so keene;

Some new things shall we heare,

Of her and Middleton the frear,

Some battell hath there beene."

But all that served him for nought.Had they not better succour sought,They were served therefore loe.Then Mistress Rokeby[89]came anon,And for her brought shee meate full soone,The sew came her unto.

But all that served him for nought.

Had they not better succour sought,

They were served therefore loe.

Then Mistress Rokeby[89]came anon,

And for her brought shee meate full soone,

The sew came her unto.

She gyve her meate upon the flower,* * * *[90][Hiatus valde deflendus.]When fryer Middleton came home,His brethren was full fain ilkone,[91]And thanked God for his life;He told them all unto the end,How he had foughten with a fiend,And lived through mickle strife.

She gyve her meate upon the flower,

* * * *[90]

[Hiatus valde deflendus.]

When fryer Middleton came home,

His brethren was full fain ilkone,[91]

And thanked God for his life;

He told them all unto the end,

How he had foughten with a fiend,

And lived through mickle strife.

"We gave her battell half a day,And sithin[92]was fain to fly away,For saving of our life;[93]And Peter Dale would never blinn,[94]But as fast as he could ryn,[95]Till he came to his wife."

"We gave her battell half a day,

And sithin[92]was fain to fly away,

For saving of our life;[93]

And Peter Dale would never blinn,[94]

But as fast as he could ryn,[95]

Till he came to his wife."

The warden said, "I am full of woe,That ever ye should be torment so,But wee with you had beene!Had wee been there your brethren all,Wee should have garred the warle[96]fall,That wrought you all this teyne."[97]

The warden said, "I am full of woe,

That ever ye should be torment so,

But wee with you had beene!

Had wee been there your brethren all,

Wee should have garred the warle[96]fall,

That wrought you all this teyne."[97]

Fryer Middleton said soon, "Nay,In faith you would have fled away,When most mister[98]had beene;You will all speake words at hame,A man would ding you every ilk ane,[99]And if it be as I weine."

Fryer Middleton said soon, "Nay,

In faith you would have fled away,

When most mister[98]had beene;

You will all speake words at hame,

A man would ding you every ilk ane,[99]

And if it be as I weine."

He look't so griesly all that night,The warden said, "Yon man will fightIf you say aught but good;Yon guest[100]hath grieved him so sare,Hold your tongues, and speake noe mare,He looks as he were woode."

He look't so griesly all that night,

The warden said, "Yon man will fight

If you say aught but good;

Yon guest[100]hath grieved him so sare,

Hold your tongues, and speake noe mare,

He looks as he were woode."

The warden waged[101]on the morne,Two boldest men that ever were borne,I weine, or ever shall be;The one was Gilbert, Griffin's son,Full mickle worship has he wonne,Both by land and sea.

The warden waged[101]on the morne,

Two boldest men that ever were borne,

I weine, or ever shall be;

The one was Gilbert, Griffin's son,

Full mickle worship has he wonne,

Both by land and sea.

The other was a bastard son of Spaine,Many a Sarazin hath he slain,His dint hath gart them die.These two men the battle undertooke,Against the sew, as says the booke,And sealed security.

The other was a bastard son of Spaine,

Many a Sarazin hath he slain,

His dint hath gart them die.

These two men the battle undertooke,

Against the sew, as says the booke,

And sealed security.

That they should boldly bide and fight,And skomfit her in maine and might,Or therefore should they die.The warden sealed to them againe,And said, "In feild if ye be slain,This condition make I:

That they should boldly bide and fight,

And skomfit her in maine and might,

Or therefore should they die.

The warden sealed to them againe,

And said, "In feild if ye be slain,

This condition make I:

"We shall for you pray, sing, and read,To doomes-day with hearty speede,With all our progeny."Then the letters well was made,Bands bound with seales brade,As deedes of armes should be.

"We shall for you pray, sing, and read,

To doomes-day with hearty speede,

With all our progeny."

Then the letters well was made,

Bands bound with seales brade,

As deedes of armes should be.

These men of armes that weere so wight,With armour and with brandes bright,They went this sew to see;She made on them slike a rerd,[102]That for her they were sare afer'dAnd almost bound to flee.

These men of armes that weere so wight,

With armour and with brandes bright,

They went this sew to see;

She made on them slike a rerd,[102]

That for her they were sare afer'd

And almost bound to flee.

She came roveing them egaine;That saw the bastard son of Spaine,He braded[103]out his brand;Full spiteously at her he strake,For all the fence that he could make,She gat sword out of hand;And rave in sunder half his shielde,And bare him backward in the feilde,He might not her gainstand.

She came roveing them egaine;

That saw the bastard son of Spaine,

He braded[103]out his brand;

Full spiteously at her he strake,

For all the fence that he could make,

She gat sword out of hand;

And rave in sunder half his shielde,

And bare him backward in the feilde,

He might not her gainstand.

She would have riven his privich geare,But Gilbert with his sword of werre,He strake at her full strong,On her shoulder till she held the swerd;Then was good Gilbert sore afer'd,When the blade brake in throng.[104]

She would have riven his privich geare,

But Gilbert with his sword of werre,

He strake at her full strong,

On her shoulder till she held the swerd;

Then was good Gilbert sore afer'd,

When the blade brake in throng.[104]

Since in his hands he hath her tane,She tooke him by the shoulder bane,And held her hold full fast;She strave so stiffly in that stower,[105]That through all his rich armourThe blood came at the last.

Since in his hands he hath her tane,

She tooke him by the shoulder bane,

And held her hold full fast;

She strave so stiffly in that stower,[105]

That through all his rich armour

The blood came at the last.

Then Gilbert grieved was sea sare,That he rave off both hide and haire,The flesh came fro the bone;And with all force he felled her there,And wann her worthily in werre,And band her him alone.

Then Gilbert grieved was sea sare,

That he rave off both hide and haire,

The flesh came fro the bone;

And with all force he felled her there,

And wann her worthily in werre,

And band her him alone.

And lift her on a horse sea hee,Into two paniers well-made of a tre,And to Richmond they did hay:[106]When they saw her come,They sang merrily Te Deum,The fryers on that day.[107]

And lift her on a horse sea hee,

Into two paniers well-made of a tre,

And to Richmond they did hay:[106]

When they saw her come,

They sang merrily Te Deum,

The fryers on that day.[107]

They thanked God and St. Francis,[108]As they had won the best of pris,[109]And never a man was slaine:There did never a man more manly,Knight Marcus, nor yett sir Gui,Nor Loth of of Louthyane.[110]

They thanked God and St. Francis,[108]

As they had won the best of pris,[109]

And never a man was slaine:

There did never a man more manly,

Knight Marcus, nor yett sir Gui,

Nor Loth of of Louthyane.[110]

If ye will any more of this,In the fryers of Richmond 'tisIn parchment good and fine;And how fryer Middleton that was so kend,At Greta bridge conjured a feind,In likeness of a swine.

If ye will any more of this,

In the fryers of Richmond 'tis

In parchment good and fine;

And how fryer Middleton that was so kend,

At Greta bridge conjured a feind,

In likeness of a swine.

It is well known to many a man,That fryer Theobald was warden than,And this fell in his time;And Christ them bless both farre and neare,All that for solace list this to heare,And him that made the rhime.

It is well known to many a man,

That fryer Theobald was warden than,

And this fell in his time;

And Christ them bless both farre and neare,

All that for solace list this to heare,

And him that made the rhime.

Ralph Rokeby with full good will,The fryers of Richmond he gave her till,This sew to mend their fare:Fryer Middleton by his name,Would needs bring the fat sew hameThat rued him since full sare.

Ralph Rokeby with full good will,

The fryers of Richmond he gave her till,

This sew to mend their fare:

Fryer Middleton by his name,

Would needs bring the fat sew hame

That rued him since full sare.

Thesubject of this ballad is the great Northern Insurrection in the 12th of Elizabeth, 1569. It happened thus:—

The zealous adherents of the Romish religion being dissatisfied at the change, formed the design of re-establishing that faith, restoring Mary of Scotland to her liberty, and placing her on the throne of England. The earls of Northumberland and Westmoreland, who possessed great power in the north, having held together several conferences, orders were despatched by Elizabeth to these noblemen to appear at court, andanswer for their conduct. This order from the queen precipitated the rising before they were fully prepared, for the leaders had already proceeded so far that they dare not trust themselves in the queen's hands. They determined to begin the insurrection without delay; and committed themselves irrevocably by entering Durham in arms, on the 14th November, 1569. This rising was speedily suppressed, and martial law having been proclaimed, great severity was exercised. The earl of Northumberland and many gentlemen were executed; sixty-six petty constables were hanged; and not less than eight hundred persons are said to have suffered by the hands of the executioner. Between Newcastle and Wetherby, a district of sixty miles in length by forty in breadth, there was not a town or village in which some of the inhabitants did not expire on the gibbet.

The following was first printed by Dr. Percy, in 1765, from two MS. copies.

Listen, lively lordings all,Lithe and listen unto me,And I will sing of a noble earle,The noblest earle in the north countrie.Earle Percy[111]is into the garden gone,And after him walkes his faire ladie:[112]"I heard a bird sing in mine eare,That I must either fight, or flee.""Now heaven forfend, my dearest lord,That ever such harm should hap to thee:But goe to London to the court,And faire full truth and honestie.""Now nay, now nay, my ladye gay,Alas! thy counsell suits not mee;Mine enemies prevail so fastThat at the court I may not bee.""O goe to the court yet, good my lord,And take thy gallant men with thee:If any dare to doe you wrong,Then your warrant they may be.""Now nay, now nay, thou lady faire,The court is full of subtiltie;And if I goe to the court, lady,Never more I may thee see.""Yet goe to the court, my lord," she sayes,"And I myselfe will ryde wi' thee:At court then for my dearest lord,His faithfull borrowe[113]I will be.""Now nay, now nay, my lady deare,Far lever[114]had I lose my life,Than leave among my cruell foesMy love in jeopardy and strife."But come thou hither, my little foot-page,Come thou hither unto mee,To maister Norton[115]thou must goe,In all the haste that ever may bee."Commend me to that gentleman,And beare this letter here fro' mee;And say that earnestly I praye,He will ryde in my companie."One while the little foot-page went,And another while he ran;Untill he came to his journey's end;The little foot-page never blan.[116]When to that gentleman he came,Down he kneeled on his knee;And took the letter betwixt his hands,And lett the gentleman it see.And when the letter it was reddAffore that goodlye companye,I wis, if you the truth wold know,There was many a weeping eye.He sayd, "Come thither, Christopher Norton,[117]A gallant youth thou seemst to bee;What doest thou counsell me, my sonne,Now that good earle's in jeopardy?""Father, my counselle's fair and free;That earle he is a noble lord,And whatsoever to him you hight,I wold not have you break your word.""Gramercy, Christopher, my sonne,Thy counsell well it liketh mee,And if we speed and scape with life,Well advanced shalt thou bee."Come you hither, my nine good sonnes,Gallant men I trowe you bee;How many of you, my children deare,Will stand by that good earle and mee?"Eight of them did answer make,Eight of them spake hastilie,"O father, till the daye we dyeWe'll stand by that good earle and thee.""Gramercy now, my children deare,You showe yourselves right bold and brave;And whethersoe'er I live or dye,A father's blessing you shall have."But what sayst thou, O Francis Norton,[118]Thou art mine eldest sonne and heire:Somewhat lyes brooding in thy breast;Whatever it bee, to mee declare.""Father, you are an aged man,Your head is white, your bearde is gray;It were a shame at these your yearsFor you to ryse in such a fray.""Now fye upon thee, coward Francis,Thou never learnedest this of mee:When thou wert yong and tender of age,Why did I make soe much of thee?""But, father, I will wend with you,Unarm'd and naked will I bee;And he that strikes against the crowne,Ever an ill death may he dee."Then rose that reverend gentleman,And with him came a goodlye bandTo join with the brave earle Percy,And all the flower o' Northumberland.With them the noble Nevill[119]cameThe earle of Westmoreland was hee;At Wetherbye they mustred their host,Thirteen thousand faire to see.Lord Westmoreland his ancyent[120]raisde,The Dun Bull he rays'd on hye,And three Dogs with golden collarsWere there sett out most royallye.[121]Earle Percy there his ancyent spred,The Halfe-Moone shining all soe faire:[122]The Norton's ancyent had the crosse,And the five wounds our Lord did beare.Then sir George Bowes[123]he straitways roseAfter them some spoyle to make:Those noble earles turn'd backe againe,And aye they vowed that knight to take.That baron he to his castle fled,To Barnard castle then fled hee,[124]The uttermost walles were eathe[125]to win,The earles have wonne them presentlie.The uttermost walles were lime and bricke;But thoughe they won them soon anone,Long e'er they wan the innermost walles,For they were cut in rocke of stone.Then newes unto leeve[126]London cameIn all the speede that ever might bee,And word is brought to our royall queeneOf the rysing in the north countrie.Her grace she turned her round about,And like a royall queene she swore,[127]I will ordayne them such a breakfast,As never was in the north before.Shee caus'd thirty thousand men berays'd,With horse and harneis[128]faire to see;Shee caus'd thirty thousand men berays'dTo take the earles i' th' north countrie.Wi' them the false earle Warwick[129]went,Th' earle Sussex[130]and the lord Hunsdon;[131]Untill they to Yorke castle cameI wis, they never stint ne blan."Now spred thy ancyent, Westmoreland,Thy Dun Bull faine would we spye;And thou, the earle o' Northumberland,Now rayse thy Halfe-Moone up on hye."But the Dun Bull is fled and gone,And the Halfe-Moone vanished away:The earles, though they were brave and bold,Against soe many could not stay."Thee, Norton, wi' thine eight good sonnes,Thy donn'd to dye, alas! for ruth![132]Thy reverend lockes thee could not save,Nor them their faire and blooming youthe."Wi' them full many a gallant wightThey cruellye bereav'd of life:And many a childe made fatherlesse,And widowed many a tender wife.

Listen, lively lordings all,Lithe and listen unto me,And I will sing of a noble earle,The noblest earle in the north countrie.

Listen, lively lordings all,

Lithe and listen unto me,

And I will sing of a noble earle,

The noblest earle in the north countrie.

Earle Percy[111]is into the garden gone,And after him walkes his faire ladie:[112]"I heard a bird sing in mine eare,That I must either fight, or flee."

Earle Percy[111]is into the garden gone,

And after him walkes his faire ladie:[112]

"I heard a bird sing in mine eare,

That I must either fight, or flee."

"Now heaven forfend, my dearest lord,That ever such harm should hap to thee:But goe to London to the court,And faire full truth and honestie."

"Now heaven forfend, my dearest lord,

That ever such harm should hap to thee:

But goe to London to the court,

And faire full truth and honestie."

"Now nay, now nay, my ladye gay,Alas! thy counsell suits not mee;Mine enemies prevail so fastThat at the court I may not bee."

"Now nay, now nay, my ladye gay,

Alas! thy counsell suits not mee;

Mine enemies prevail so fast

That at the court I may not bee."

"O goe to the court yet, good my lord,And take thy gallant men with thee:If any dare to doe you wrong,Then your warrant they may be."

"O goe to the court yet, good my lord,

And take thy gallant men with thee:

If any dare to doe you wrong,

Then your warrant they may be."

"Now nay, now nay, thou lady faire,The court is full of subtiltie;And if I goe to the court, lady,Never more I may thee see."

"Now nay, now nay, thou lady faire,

The court is full of subtiltie;

And if I goe to the court, lady,

Never more I may thee see."

"Yet goe to the court, my lord," she sayes,"And I myselfe will ryde wi' thee:At court then for my dearest lord,His faithfull borrowe[113]I will be."

"Yet goe to the court, my lord," she sayes,

"And I myselfe will ryde wi' thee:

At court then for my dearest lord,

His faithfull borrowe[113]I will be."

"Now nay, now nay, my lady deare,Far lever[114]had I lose my life,Than leave among my cruell foesMy love in jeopardy and strife.

"Now nay, now nay, my lady deare,

Far lever[114]had I lose my life,

Than leave among my cruell foes

My love in jeopardy and strife.

"But come thou hither, my little foot-page,Come thou hither unto mee,To maister Norton[115]thou must goe,In all the haste that ever may bee.

"But come thou hither, my little foot-page,

Come thou hither unto mee,

To maister Norton[115]thou must goe,

In all the haste that ever may bee.

"Commend me to that gentleman,And beare this letter here fro' mee;And say that earnestly I praye,He will ryde in my companie."

"Commend me to that gentleman,

And beare this letter here fro' mee;

And say that earnestly I praye,

He will ryde in my companie."

One while the little foot-page went,And another while he ran;Untill he came to his journey's end;The little foot-page never blan.[116]

One while the little foot-page went,

And another while he ran;

Untill he came to his journey's end;

The little foot-page never blan.[116]

When to that gentleman he came,Down he kneeled on his knee;And took the letter betwixt his hands,And lett the gentleman it see.

When to that gentleman he came,

Down he kneeled on his knee;

And took the letter betwixt his hands,

And lett the gentleman it see.

And when the letter it was reddAffore that goodlye companye,I wis, if you the truth wold know,There was many a weeping eye.

And when the letter it was redd

Affore that goodlye companye,

I wis, if you the truth wold know,

There was many a weeping eye.

He sayd, "Come thither, Christopher Norton,[117]A gallant youth thou seemst to bee;What doest thou counsell me, my sonne,Now that good earle's in jeopardy?"

He sayd, "Come thither, Christopher Norton,[117]

A gallant youth thou seemst to bee;

What doest thou counsell me, my sonne,

Now that good earle's in jeopardy?"

"Father, my counselle's fair and free;That earle he is a noble lord,And whatsoever to him you hight,I wold not have you break your word."

"Father, my counselle's fair and free;

That earle he is a noble lord,

And whatsoever to him you hight,

I wold not have you break your word."

"Gramercy, Christopher, my sonne,Thy counsell well it liketh mee,And if we speed and scape with life,Well advanced shalt thou bee.

"Gramercy, Christopher, my sonne,

Thy counsell well it liketh mee,

And if we speed and scape with life,

Well advanced shalt thou bee.

"Come you hither, my nine good sonnes,Gallant men I trowe you bee;How many of you, my children deare,Will stand by that good earle and mee?"

"Come you hither, my nine good sonnes,

Gallant men I trowe you bee;

How many of you, my children deare,

Will stand by that good earle and mee?"

Eight of them did answer make,Eight of them spake hastilie,"O father, till the daye we dyeWe'll stand by that good earle and thee."

Eight of them did answer make,

Eight of them spake hastilie,

"O father, till the daye we dye

We'll stand by that good earle and thee."

"Gramercy now, my children deare,You showe yourselves right bold and brave;And whethersoe'er I live or dye,A father's blessing you shall have.

"Gramercy now, my children deare,

You showe yourselves right bold and brave;

And whethersoe'er I live or dye,

A father's blessing you shall have.

"But what sayst thou, O Francis Norton,[118]Thou art mine eldest sonne and heire:Somewhat lyes brooding in thy breast;Whatever it bee, to mee declare."

"But what sayst thou, O Francis Norton,[118]

Thou art mine eldest sonne and heire:

Somewhat lyes brooding in thy breast;

Whatever it bee, to mee declare."

"Father, you are an aged man,Your head is white, your bearde is gray;It were a shame at these your yearsFor you to ryse in such a fray."

"Father, you are an aged man,

Your head is white, your bearde is gray;

It were a shame at these your years

For you to ryse in such a fray."

"Now fye upon thee, coward Francis,Thou never learnedest this of mee:When thou wert yong and tender of age,Why did I make soe much of thee?"

"Now fye upon thee, coward Francis,

Thou never learnedest this of mee:

When thou wert yong and tender of age,

Why did I make soe much of thee?"

"But, father, I will wend with you,Unarm'd and naked will I bee;And he that strikes against the crowne,Ever an ill death may he dee."

"But, father, I will wend with you,

Unarm'd and naked will I bee;

And he that strikes against the crowne,

Ever an ill death may he dee."

Then rose that reverend gentleman,And with him came a goodlye bandTo join with the brave earle Percy,And all the flower o' Northumberland.

Then rose that reverend gentleman,

And with him came a goodlye band

To join with the brave earle Percy,

And all the flower o' Northumberland.

With them the noble Nevill[119]cameThe earle of Westmoreland was hee;At Wetherbye they mustred their host,Thirteen thousand faire to see.

With them the noble Nevill[119]came

The earle of Westmoreland was hee;

At Wetherbye they mustred their host,

Thirteen thousand faire to see.

Lord Westmoreland his ancyent[120]raisde,The Dun Bull he rays'd on hye,And three Dogs with golden collarsWere there sett out most royallye.[121]

Lord Westmoreland his ancyent[120]raisde,

The Dun Bull he rays'd on hye,

And three Dogs with golden collars

Were there sett out most royallye.[121]

Earle Percy there his ancyent spred,The Halfe-Moone shining all soe faire:[122]The Norton's ancyent had the crosse,And the five wounds our Lord did beare.

Earle Percy there his ancyent spred,

The Halfe-Moone shining all soe faire:[122]

The Norton's ancyent had the crosse,

And the five wounds our Lord did beare.

Then sir George Bowes[123]he straitways roseAfter them some spoyle to make:Those noble earles turn'd backe againe,And aye they vowed that knight to take.

Then sir George Bowes[123]he straitways rose

After them some spoyle to make:

Those noble earles turn'd backe againe,

And aye they vowed that knight to take.

That baron he to his castle fled,To Barnard castle then fled hee,[124]The uttermost walles were eathe[125]to win,The earles have wonne them presentlie.

That baron he to his castle fled,

To Barnard castle then fled hee,[124]

The uttermost walles were eathe[125]to win,

The earles have wonne them presentlie.

The uttermost walles were lime and bricke;But thoughe they won them soon anone,Long e'er they wan the innermost walles,For they were cut in rocke of stone.

The uttermost walles were lime and bricke;

But thoughe they won them soon anone,

Long e'er they wan the innermost walles,

For they were cut in rocke of stone.

Then newes unto leeve[126]London cameIn all the speede that ever might bee,And word is brought to our royall queeneOf the rysing in the north countrie.

Then newes unto leeve[126]London came

In all the speede that ever might bee,

And word is brought to our royall queene

Of the rysing in the north countrie.

Her grace she turned her round about,And like a royall queene she swore,[127]I will ordayne them such a breakfast,As never was in the north before.

Her grace she turned her round about,

And like a royall queene she swore,[127]

I will ordayne them such a breakfast,

As never was in the north before.

Shee caus'd thirty thousand men berays'd,With horse and harneis[128]faire to see;Shee caus'd thirty thousand men berays'dTo take the earles i' th' north countrie.

Shee caus'd thirty thousand men berays'd,

With horse and harneis[128]faire to see;

Shee caus'd thirty thousand men berays'd

To take the earles i' th' north countrie.

Wi' them the false earle Warwick[129]went,Th' earle Sussex[130]and the lord Hunsdon;[131]Untill they to Yorke castle cameI wis, they never stint ne blan.

Wi' them the false earle Warwick[129]went,

Th' earle Sussex[130]and the lord Hunsdon;[131]

Untill they to Yorke castle came

I wis, they never stint ne blan.

"Now spred thy ancyent, Westmoreland,Thy Dun Bull faine would we spye;And thou, the earle o' Northumberland,Now rayse thy Halfe-Moone up on hye."

"Now spred thy ancyent, Westmoreland,

Thy Dun Bull faine would we spye;

And thou, the earle o' Northumberland,

Now rayse thy Halfe-Moone up on hye."

But the Dun Bull is fled and gone,And the Halfe-Moone vanished away:The earles, though they were brave and bold,Against soe many could not stay.

But the Dun Bull is fled and gone,

And the Halfe-Moone vanished away:

The earles, though they were brave and bold,

Against soe many could not stay.

"Thee, Norton, wi' thine eight good sonnes,Thy donn'd to dye, alas! for ruth![132]Thy reverend lockes thee could not save,Nor them their faire and blooming youthe."

"Thee, Norton, wi' thine eight good sonnes,

Thy donn'd to dye, alas! for ruth![132]

Thy reverend lockes thee could not save,

Nor them their faire and blooming youthe."

Wi' them full many a gallant wightThey cruellye bereav'd of life:And many a childe made fatherlesse,And widowed many a tender wife.

Wi' them full many a gallant wight

They cruellye bereav'd of life:

And many a childe made fatherlesse,

And widowed many a tender wife.

By W. E. (William Elderton), A.D. 1584.

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