FOOTNOTES:

FOOTNOTES:[1023]buskèd = dressed.[1024]bowne = ready.[1025]stounde = time.[1026]leeve = dear, pleasant.[1027]hansell = foretaste.[1028]Anguish = Angus.[1029]Hambleton = Hamilton.[1030]breeme = fierce.[1031]buske = addressed.[1032]bowne = ready.[1033]thoe = those.[1034]ancyents = ensigns.[1035]may = maiden.

[1023]buskèd = dressed.

[1024]bowne = ready.

[1025]stounde = time.

[1026]leeve = dear, pleasant.

[1027]hansell = foretaste.

[1028]Anguish = Angus.

[1029]Hambleton = Hamilton.

[1030]breeme = fierce.

[1031]buske = addressed.

[1032]bowne = ready.

[1033]thoe = those.

[1034]ancyents = ensigns.

[1035]may = maiden.

IIt fell about the Lammas tideWhen husbands[1036]win their hay,The doughty Douglas bound him to rideIn England to take a prey.IIHe has chosen the Graemes, and the Lindsays light,And the gallant Gordons gay;And the Earl of Fyfe withouten strife,He’s bound him over Solwày.IIIThey come in over Ottercap Hill,So down by Rodeley Cragge;Upon Green Leyton they lighted downStyrande[1037]many a stagge.IVAnd they have brent[1038]the dales of Tyne,And harryed Bamborowe shire,And the Otter Dale they have brent it hale[1039]And left it a’ on fire.VThen spake a berne[1040]upon the bent[1041],Of comfort that was not cold,And said, ‘We have brent Northumberland,We have all wealth in hold.VI‘Now we have harryed all Bamborowe shire,All the wealth in the world have we:I rede[1042]we ryde to NewcastellSo still and stalworthlye.’VIIUpon the morrow, when it was day,The standards shone full bright;To Newcastell they took the way,And thither they came full right.VIIITo Newcastell when that they came,The Douglas cry’d on hyght:‘Harry Percy, an thou bidest within,Come to the field, and fight!—IX‘For we have brent Northumberland,Thy herytage good and right;And syne my lodging I have ta’en,With my brand dubb’d many a knight.’XSir Harry Percy came to the wallsThe Scottish host for to see,Sayd, ‘An thou hast brent Northumberland,Full sore it rueth me.XI‘If thou hast haryed all Bamborowe shire,Thou hast done me great envye;For this trespasse thou hast me doneThe tone[1043]of us shall die.’XII‘Where shall I bide thee?’ sayd the Douglas,‘Or where wilt thou come to me?’—‘But gae ye up to Otterbourne,And wait there dayès three.XIII‘The roe full rekeles[1044]there she rins,To make the game and glee;The falcon and the phesant both,To fend[1045]thy men and thee.XIV‘There may’st thou have thy wealth at will,Well lodg’d thou there may’st be:It shall not be long ere I come thee till[1046],’Sayd Sir Harry Percy.XV‘There shall I bide thee,’ sayd the Douglas,‘By the faith of my bodye.’—‘There shall I come,’ said Sir Harry Percy,‘My troth I plight to thee.’XVIA pipe of wine over the wall,He gave them [to their pay[1047]],There he made the Douglas drinke,And all his host that day.XVIIThe Douglas turn’d him homeward again,[And rode withouten stay];He pyght[1048]his standard at OtterbourneUpon a Wedensday.XVIIIAnd syne he warned his men to goTo choose their geldings grass;[And he that had no man to send]His own servant he was.XIXA Scottish knight hoved[1049]on the bent[1050]At watch, I dare well say,So was he ware of the noble PercyIn the dawning of the day.XXHe pryck’d to his pavilion[1051]doorAs fast as he might run:‘Awaken, Douglas!’ cried the knight,‘For his sake that sits in throne!XXI‘Awaken, Douglas!’ cried the knight,‘For thou mayst wake with wynne[1052]!Yonder have I spied the proud Percy,And seven standards with him.’XXII‘Now by my troth,’ the Douglas sayd,‘It is but a faynèd[1053]tale!He durst not look on my broad banner[Were all England in] hail!XXIII‘Was I not yesterday at NewcastellThat stands so fair on Tyne?For all the men the Percy hadHe could not gar me to dine[1054].’XXIVHe stepp’d out at his pavilion-doorTo look an it were lease[1055]:‘Array you, lordings, one and all!For here begins no peace.XXV‘The Earl of Menteith, thou art my eme[1056],The vaward[1057]I give to thee:The Earl of Huntley, cante[1058]and keen,Take him to go with thee.XXVI‘The Lord of Buchan, in armure bright,On the other side he shall be;Lord Johnstone and Lord MaxwellThey two shall go with me.XXVII‘Swynton, fair fall upon your pride!To battle make you bowne[1059].—Sir Davy Scott, Sir Walter Steward,Sir John of Agerstone!’XXVIIIThe Percy came before his host,He was ever a gentil knight:Upon the Douglas loud can he cry‘I will hold that I have hyght[1060].’XXIX‘For thou hast brent Northumberland,And done me great envye,For this trespasse thou hast me doneThe tone of us shall die.’XXXThe Douglas answer’d him againWith great words upon hie,And sayd, ‘I have twenty against thy one:Behold, and thou mayst see!’XXXIWith that the Percy was grievèd sore,Forsooth as I you say:He lighted down upon his footAnd schoote[1061]his horse away.XXXIIEvery man saw that he did so,That ryal was ever in rowghte[1062]:Every man schoote his horse him froAnd lighted him round about.XXXIIISir Harry Percy took the fieldEven thus, as I you say;Jesus Christe in hevyn on heightDid help him well that day.XXXIVBut nine thousand, there was no more—The chronicle will not layne[1063]—Forty thousand of Scots and fourThat day fought them again[1064].XXXVBut when the battel began to join,In haste there came a knight;And letters fair forth hath he ta’en,And thus he sayd full right:XXXVI‘My lord your father greets you well,With many a noble knight;He doth desire you now to bide,That he may see this fight.XXXVII‘The Baron of Graystoke is out of the westWith a noble companye:All they lodge at your father’s this night,And the battel fayn would they see.’XXXVIII‘For Jesus’ love,’ sayd Sir Harry Percy,‘That died for you and me,Wend to my lord my father agayn,Say thou saw me not with thee.XXXIX‘My troth is plight to yon Scottish knight,—It nede’s me not to layne—That I should bide him upon this bent,And I have his troth agayn.XL‘And if that I wend off this growende[1065],Forsooth, unfoughten away,He would call me but a coward knightIn his land another day.XLI‘Yet had I liefer be rynde[1066]and rent,—By Mary, that mickle may[1067]!—Than ever my manhood be reprovedWith a Scot another day.XLII‘Wherefore shoot, archers, for my sake!And let sharp arrows flee.Minstrels, play up for your waryson[1068]!And well quit it shall be.XLIII‘Every man thynke on his true-love,And mark him to the Trinitye:For unto God I make mine avoweThis day will I not flee.’XLIVThe blodye herte in the Douglas armsHis standard stood on hie,That every man might full wel knowe;Bysyde stood starrès three.XLVThe white lion on the English part,Forsooth as I you sayn,The lucettes[1069]and the cressants bothThe Scot fought them again.XLVIUpon Seynt Andrewe loud can they crye,And thrice they showt on hyght,Syne mark’d them on our English men,As I have told you right.XLVIISeynt George the bryght, Our Ladye’s knyght,To name they were full fayne;Our English men they cry’d on hyght,And thrice they shot agayne.XLVIIIWith that sharp arrows began to flee,I tell you in certayne:Men of arms began to joyne,Many a doughty man was slayne.XLIXThe Percy and the Douglas metThat either of other was fayne;They swapp’d[1070]together while they swet[1071]With swords of fyne Collayne[1072]:LUntil the blood from their bassonets[1073]ranAs the roke[1074]doth in the rayne;‘Yield thou to me,’ sayd the Douglas,‘Or elles thou shall be slayne.LI‘For I see by thy bryght bassonetThou art some man of myght:And so I do by thy burnysh’d brand,Thou’rt an earl or elles a knyght.’LII‘By my good faith,’ said the noble Percye,‘Now hast thou rede full ryght;Yet will I never yield me to thee,While I may stand and fyght.’LIIIThey swapp’d together, while that they swet,With swordès sharp and long;Each on other so fast they bette[1075],Their helms came in pieces down.LIVThe Percy was a man of strength,I tell you in this stounde[1076]:He smote the Douglas at the sword’s lengthThat he fell to the grounde.LVThe Douglas call’d to his little foot-page,And sayd, ‘Run speedilye,And fetch my ain dear sister’s son,Sir Hugh Montgomery.LVI‘My nephew good,’ the Douglas sayd,‘What recks the death of ane?Last night I dream’d a dreary dream,And I ken the day’s thy ain.LVII‘My wound is deep: I am fayn to sleep,Take thou the vaward of me,And hide me by the bracken bushGrows on yon lilye-lee.’LVIIIHe has lifted up that noble lordWith the saut tears in his e’e;He has hidden him in the bracken bushThat his merry men might not see.LIXThe standards stood still on eke side;With many a grievous groanThey fought that day, and all the night;Many a doughtye man was slone.LXThe morn was clear, the day drew nie,—Yet stiffly in stowre[1077]they stood;Echone hewing another while they might drie,Till aye ran down the blood.LXIThe Percy and Montgomery metThat either of other was fayn:They swappèd swords, and they two metTill the blood ran down between.LXII‘Now yield thee, yield thee, Percy,’ he said,‘Or I vow I’le lay thee low!’‘To whom shall I yield?’ said Earl Percy,‘Now I see it maun be so.’—LXIII‘Thou shalt not yield to lord nor loun,Nor yet shalt thou to me;But yield thee to the bracken bushGrows on yon lilye-lee.’—LXIV‘I winna yield to a bracken bush,Nor yet I will to a brere[1078];But I would yield to Earl Douglas,Or Montgomery if he was here.’LXVAs soon as he knew Montgomery,He stuck his sword’s point in ground;The Montgomery was a courteous knight,And quickly took him by the hand.LXVIThere was slayne upon the Scottès’ side,For sooth and certaynlye,Sir James a Douglas there was slayne,That day that he cou’d dye.LXVIIThe Earl of Menteith he was slayne,And gryselye[1079]groan’d on the groun’;Sir Davy Scott, Sir Walter Steward,Sir John of Agerstone.LXVIIISir Charlès Murray in that placeThat never a foot would flee;Sir Hew Maxwell, a lord he was,With the Douglas did he dee.LXIXThere was slayne upon the Scottès’ sideFor sooth as I you say,Of four and fifty thousand ScottesWent but eighteen away.LXXThere was slayne upon the English sideFor sooth and certaynlye,A gentle Knight, Sir John Fitzhughe,It was the more pitye.LXXISir James Hardbotell there was slayne,For him their heartes were sore;The gentle Lovell there was slayne,That the Percy’s standard bore.LXXIIThere was slayne upon the English partFor sooth as I you say,Of ninè thousand English menFive hundred came away.LXXIIIThe others slayne were in the field;Christ keep their souls from woe!Seeing there was so fewè friendsAgainst so many a foe.LXXIVThen on the morn they made them bieresOf birch and hazell gray:Many a widow with weeping tearesTheir makes[1080]they fette[1081]away.LXXVThis fray was fought at Otterbourne,Between the night and the day;Earl Douglas was buried at the bracken bush,And the Percy led captive away.LXXVINow let us all for the Percy prayTo Jesu most of might,To bring his soul to the bliss of heaven,For he was a gentle knight.

It fell about the Lammas tideWhen husbands[1036]win their hay,The doughty Douglas bound him to rideIn England to take a prey.

He has chosen the Graemes, and the Lindsays light,And the gallant Gordons gay;And the Earl of Fyfe withouten strife,He’s bound him over Solwày.

They come in over Ottercap Hill,So down by Rodeley Cragge;Upon Green Leyton they lighted downStyrande[1037]many a stagge.

And they have brent[1038]the dales of Tyne,And harryed Bamborowe shire,And the Otter Dale they have brent it hale[1039]And left it a’ on fire.

Then spake a berne[1040]upon the bent[1041],Of comfort that was not cold,And said, ‘We have brent Northumberland,We have all wealth in hold.

‘Now we have harryed all Bamborowe shire,All the wealth in the world have we:I rede[1042]we ryde to NewcastellSo still and stalworthlye.’

Upon the morrow, when it was day,The standards shone full bright;To Newcastell they took the way,And thither they came full right.

To Newcastell when that they came,The Douglas cry’d on hyght:‘Harry Percy, an thou bidest within,Come to the field, and fight!—

‘For we have brent Northumberland,Thy herytage good and right;And syne my lodging I have ta’en,With my brand dubb’d many a knight.’

Sir Harry Percy came to the wallsThe Scottish host for to see,Sayd, ‘An thou hast brent Northumberland,Full sore it rueth me.

‘If thou hast haryed all Bamborowe shire,Thou hast done me great envye;For this trespasse thou hast me doneThe tone[1043]of us shall die.’

‘Where shall I bide thee?’ sayd the Douglas,‘Or where wilt thou come to me?’—‘But gae ye up to Otterbourne,And wait there dayès three.

‘The roe full rekeles[1044]there she rins,To make the game and glee;The falcon and the phesant both,To fend[1045]thy men and thee.

‘There may’st thou have thy wealth at will,Well lodg’d thou there may’st be:It shall not be long ere I come thee till[1046],’Sayd Sir Harry Percy.

‘There shall I bide thee,’ sayd the Douglas,‘By the faith of my bodye.’—‘There shall I come,’ said Sir Harry Percy,‘My troth I plight to thee.’

A pipe of wine over the wall,He gave them [to their pay[1047]],There he made the Douglas drinke,And all his host that day.

The Douglas turn’d him homeward again,[And rode withouten stay];He pyght[1048]his standard at OtterbourneUpon a Wedensday.

And syne he warned his men to goTo choose their geldings grass;[And he that had no man to send]His own servant he was.

A Scottish knight hoved[1049]on the bent[1050]At watch, I dare well say,So was he ware of the noble PercyIn the dawning of the day.

He pryck’d to his pavilion[1051]doorAs fast as he might run:‘Awaken, Douglas!’ cried the knight,‘For his sake that sits in throne!

‘Awaken, Douglas!’ cried the knight,‘For thou mayst wake with wynne[1052]!Yonder have I spied the proud Percy,And seven standards with him.’

‘Now by my troth,’ the Douglas sayd,‘It is but a faynèd[1053]tale!He durst not look on my broad banner[Were all England in] hail!

‘Was I not yesterday at NewcastellThat stands so fair on Tyne?For all the men the Percy hadHe could not gar me to dine[1054].’

He stepp’d out at his pavilion-doorTo look an it were lease[1055]:‘Array you, lordings, one and all!For here begins no peace.

‘The Earl of Menteith, thou art my eme[1056],The vaward[1057]I give to thee:The Earl of Huntley, cante[1058]and keen,Take him to go with thee.

‘The Lord of Buchan, in armure bright,On the other side he shall be;Lord Johnstone and Lord MaxwellThey two shall go with me.

‘Swynton, fair fall upon your pride!To battle make you bowne[1059].—Sir Davy Scott, Sir Walter Steward,Sir John of Agerstone!’

The Percy came before his host,He was ever a gentil knight:Upon the Douglas loud can he cry‘I will hold that I have hyght[1060].’

‘For thou hast brent Northumberland,And done me great envye,For this trespasse thou hast me doneThe tone of us shall die.’

The Douglas answer’d him againWith great words upon hie,And sayd, ‘I have twenty against thy one:Behold, and thou mayst see!’

With that the Percy was grievèd sore,Forsooth as I you say:He lighted down upon his footAnd schoote[1061]his horse away.

Every man saw that he did so,That ryal was ever in rowghte[1062]:Every man schoote his horse him froAnd lighted him round about.

Sir Harry Percy took the fieldEven thus, as I you say;Jesus Christe in hevyn on heightDid help him well that day.

But nine thousand, there was no more—The chronicle will not layne[1063]—Forty thousand of Scots and fourThat day fought them again[1064].

But when the battel began to join,In haste there came a knight;And letters fair forth hath he ta’en,And thus he sayd full right:

‘My lord your father greets you well,With many a noble knight;He doth desire you now to bide,That he may see this fight.

‘The Baron of Graystoke is out of the westWith a noble companye:All they lodge at your father’s this night,And the battel fayn would they see.’

‘For Jesus’ love,’ sayd Sir Harry Percy,‘That died for you and me,Wend to my lord my father agayn,Say thou saw me not with thee.

‘My troth is plight to yon Scottish knight,—It nede’s me not to layne—That I should bide him upon this bent,And I have his troth agayn.

‘And if that I wend off this growende[1065],Forsooth, unfoughten away,He would call me but a coward knightIn his land another day.

‘Yet had I liefer be rynde[1066]and rent,—By Mary, that mickle may[1067]!—Than ever my manhood be reprovedWith a Scot another day.

‘Wherefore shoot, archers, for my sake!And let sharp arrows flee.Minstrels, play up for your waryson[1068]!And well quit it shall be.

‘Every man thynke on his true-love,And mark him to the Trinitye:For unto God I make mine avoweThis day will I not flee.’

The blodye herte in the Douglas armsHis standard stood on hie,That every man might full wel knowe;Bysyde stood starrès three.

The white lion on the English part,Forsooth as I you sayn,The lucettes[1069]and the cressants bothThe Scot fought them again.

Upon Seynt Andrewe loud can they crye,And thrice they showt on hyght,Syne mark’d them on our English men,As I have told you right.

Seynt George the bryght, Our Ladye’s knyght,To name they were full fayne;Our English men they cry’d on hyght,And thrice they shot agayne.

With that sharp arrows began to flee,I tell you in certayne:Men of arms began to joyne,Many a doughty man was slayne.

The Percy and the Douglas metThat either of other was fayne;They swapp’d[1070]together while they swet[1071]With swords of fyne Collayne[1072]:

Until the blood from their bassonets[1073]ranAs the roke[1074]doth in the rayne;‘Yield thou to me,’ sayd the Douglas,‘Or elles thou shall be slayne.

‘For I see by thy bryght bassonetThou art some man of myght:And so I do by thy burnysh’d brand,Thou’rt an earl or elles a knyght.’

‘By my good faith,’ said the noble Percye,‘Now hast thou rede full ryght;Yet will I never yield me to thee,While I may stand and fyght.’

They swapp’d together, while that they swet,With swordès sharp and long;Each on other so fast they bette[1075],Their helms came in pieces down.

The Percy was a man of strength,I tell you in this stounde[1076]:He smote the Douglas at the sword’s lengthThat he fell to the grounde.

The Douglas call’d to his little foot-page,And sayd, ‘Run speedilye,And fetch my ain dear sister’s son,Sir Hugh Montgomery.

‘My nephew good,’ the Douglas sayd,‘What recks the death of ane?Last night I dream’d a dreary dream,And I ken the day’s thy ain.

‘My wound is deep: I am fayn to sleep,Take thou the vaward of me,And hide me by the bracken bushGrows on yon lilye-lee.’

He has lifted up that noble lordWith the saut tears in his e’e;He has hidden him in the bracken bushThat his merry men might not see.

The standards stood still on eke side;With many a grievous groanThey fought that day, and all the night;Many a doughtye man was slone.

The morn was clear, the day drew nie,—Yet stiffly in stowre[1077]they stood;Echone hewing another while they might drie,Till aye ran down the blood.

The Percy and Montgomery metThat either of other was fayn:They swappèd swords, and they two metTill the blood ran down between.

‘Now yield thee, yield thee, Percy,’ he said,‘Or I vow I’le lay thee low!’‘To whom shall I yield?’ said Earl Percy,‘Now I see it maun be so.’—

‘Thou shalt not yield to lord nor loun,Nor yet shalt thou to me;But yield thee to the bracken bushGrows on yon lilye-lee.’—

‘I winna yield to a bracken bush,Nor yet I will to a brere[1078];But I would yield to Earl Douglas,Or Montgomery if he was here.’

As soon as he knew Montgomery,He stuck his sword’s point in ground;The Montgomery was a courteous knight,And quickly took him by the hand.

There was slayne upon the Scottès’ side,For sooth and certaynlye,Sir James a Douglas there was slayne,That day that he cou’d dye.

The Earl of Menteith he was slayne,And gryselye[1079]groan’d on the groun’;Sir Davy Scott, Sir Walter Steward,Sir John of Agerstone.

Sir Charlès Murray in that placeThat never a foot would flee;Sir Hew Maxwell, a lord he was,With the Douglas did he dee.

There was slayne upon the Scottès’ sideFor sooth as I you say,Of four and fifty thousand ScottesWent but eighteen away.

There was slayne upon the English sideFor sooth and certaynlye,A gentle Knight, Sir John Fitzhughe,It was the more pitye.

Sir James Hardbotell there was slayne,For him their heartes were sore;The gentle Lovell there was slayne,That the Percy’s standard bore.

There was slayne upon the English partFor sooth as I you say,Of ninè thousand English menFive hundred came away.

The others slayne were in the field;Christ keep their souls from woe!Seeing there was so fewè friendsAgainst so many a foe.

Then on the morn they made them bieresOf birch and hazell gray:Many a widow with weeping tearesTheir makes[1080]they fette[1081]away.

This fray was fought at Otterbourne,Between the night and the day;Earl Douglas was buried at the bracken bush,And the Percy led captive away.

Now let us all for the Percy prayTo Jesu most of might,To bring his soul to the bliss of heaven,For he was a gentle knight.

FOOTNOTES:[1036]husbands = husbandmen.[1037]Styrande = stirring, rousing.[1038]brent = burned.[1039]hale = whole.[1040]berne = fighting-man.[1041]bent = coarse grass.[1042]rede = counsel.[1043]tone = one of two.[1044]rekeles = reckless, wild.[1045]fend = provide for.[1046]till = to.[1047]pay = satisfaction.[1048]pyght = pitched.[1049]hoved = abode.[1050]bent = grass.[1051]pavilion = tent.[1052]wynne = joy.[1053]faynèd = feigned.[1054]gar me to dine = give me my fill, entertain me (at fighting).[1055]lease = leasing, falsehood.[1056]eme = uncle.[1057]vaward = vanguard.[1058]cante = spirited.[1059]bowne = ready.[1060]that I have hyght = what I have promised.[1061]schoote = thrust, sent quickly.[1062]ryal in rowghte = royal in rout, a king amongst men.[1063]layne = conceal.[1064]them again = against them.[1065]growende = ground.[1066]rynde = riven, or flayed.[1067]mickle may = mighty maid.[1068]waryson = reward.[1069]lucettes = luces, pikes (heraldic).[1070]swapp’d = smote.[1071]swet = sweated.[1072]Collayne = Cologne steel.[1073]bassonets = steel skull-caps.[1074]roke = reek, mist.[1075]bette = beat.[1076]stounde = time.[1077]stowre = press of battle.[1078]brere = briar.[1079]gryselye = in a grisly manner, terribly.[1080]makes = mates.[1081]fette = fetched.

[1036]husbands = husbandmen.

[1037]Styrande = stirring, rousing.

[1038]brent = burned.

[1039]hale = whole.

[1040]berne = fighting-man.

[1041]bent = coarse grass.

[1042]rede = counsel.

[1043]tone = one of two.

[1044]rekeles = reckless, wild.

[1045]fend = provide for.

[1046]till = to.

[1047]pay = satisfaction.

[1048]pyght = pitched.

[1049]hoved = abode.

[1050]bent = grass.

[1051]pavilion = tent.

[1052]wynne = joy.

[1053]faynèd = feigned.

[1054]gar me to dine = give me my fill, entertain me (at fighting).

[1055]lease = leasing, falsehood.

[1056]eme = uncle.

[1057]vaward = vanguard.

[1058]cante = spirited.

[1059]bowne = ready.

[1060]that I have hyght = what I have promised.

[1061]schoote = thrust, sent quickly.

[1062]ryal in rowghte = royal in rout, a king amongst men.

[1063]layne = conceal.

[1064]them again = against them.

[1065]growende = ground.

[1066]rynde = riven, or flayed.

[1067]mickle may = mighty maid.

[1068]waryson = reward.

[1069]lucettes = luces, pikes (heraldic).

[1070]swapp’d = smote.

[1071]swet = sweated.

[1072]Collayne = Cologne steel.

[1073]bassonets = steel skull-caps.

[1074]roke = reek, mist.

[1075]bette = beat.

[1076]stounde = time.

[1077]stowre = press of battle.

[1078]brere = briar.

[1079]gryselye = in a grisly manner, terribly.

[1080]makes = mates.

[1081]fette = fetched.

Fytte IIThe Percy out of Northumberland,An avow to God made heThat he would hunt in the mountainsOf Cheviot within days three,In the maugre[1082]of doughty Douglas,And all that e’er with him be.IIThe fattest harts in all CheviotHe would kill and carry away.—‘By my faith,’ said the doughty Douglas again,‘I will let[1083]that hunting if I may!’IIIThen the Percy out of Banborowe came,With him a mighty meinye[1084],With fifteen hundred archers boldChosen out of shirès three.IVThis began on a Monday at morn,In Cheviot the hills so hye;The child may rue that is unborn,It was the more pitye.VThe drivers through the woodès went[All] for to raise the deer,Bowmen bicker’d[1085]upon the bent[1086]With their broad arrows clear.VIThen the wild[1087]thoro’ the woodès wentOn every sidè shear[1088];Greyhounds thoro’ the grevès[1089]glent[1090]For to kill their deer.VIIThis began on Cheviot the hills abuneEarly on a Monenday;By that it drew to the hour of noonA hundred fat harts dead there lay.VIIIThey blew a mort[1091]upon the bent,They ’sembled on sidès shear;To the quarry[1092]then the Percy wentTo the brittling[1093]of the deer.IXHe said, ‘It was the Douglas’ promiseThis day to meet me here;But I wist he would fail, verament!’—A great oath the Percy sware.XAt the last a squire of NorthumberlandLookèd at his hand full nigh;He was ware o’ the doughty Douglas coming,With him a great meinye.XIBoth with speär, bill and brand,—’Twas a mighty sight to see;Hardier men both of heart nor handWere not in Christiantè.XIIThey were twenty hundred spearmen good,Withouten any fail:They were born along by the water o’ TweedI’ the boun’s[1094]o’ Teviotdale.XIII‘Leave off the brittling of deer,’ he said;‘To your bows look ye take good heed,For sith ye were on your mothers bornHad ye never so mickle need.’XIVThe doughty Douglas on a steedRode all his men beforn,His armour glitter’d as did a gleed[1095],Bolder bairn[1096]was never born.XV‘Tell me whose men ye are,’ he says,‘Or whose men that ye be;Who gave you leave in this Cheviot chaseIn the spite of mine and of me?’XVIThe first man that him answer madeIt was the good Lord Percye:‘We will not tell thee whose men we are,Nor whose men that we be;But we will hunt here in this chaseIn the spite of thine and of thee.XVII‘The fattest harts in all CheviotWe have kill’d, to carry away.’—‘By my troth,’ said the doughty Douglas again,‘The one of us dies this day.XVIII‘[Yet] to kill allè these guiltless menAlas, it were great pitye!But, Percy, thou art a lord of land,I an earl in my countrye—Let all our men on a party[1097]stand,And do battle of thee and me!’XIX‘Christ’s curse on his crown,’ said the lord Percye,‘Whosoever thereto says nay!By my troth, thou doughty Douglas,’ he says,‘Thou shalt never see that day—XX—‘Neither in England, Scotland nor France,Nor for no man of woman born,But, that (and fortune be my chance)I dare meet him, one man for one.’XXIThen bespake a squire of Northumberland,Richard Witherington was his name;‘It shall never be told in South EnglandTo King Harry the Fourth for shame.XXII‘I wot you bin great lordès two,I am a poor squire of land;[Yet] I’ll ne’er see my captain fight on a fieldAnd stand myself and look on.But while that I may my weapon wieldI’ll not fail, both heart and hand.’XXIIIThat day, that day, that dreadful day!—The first fytte[1098]here I find:An you’ll hear any more o’ the hunting of Cheviot,Yet there is more behind.Fytte IIXXIVThe Englishmen had their bows y-bent,Their hearts were good enow;The first of arrows that they shot offSeven score spearmen they slew.XXVYet bides the Earl Douglas upon the bent,A captain good enoghe;And that was seenè verament,For he wrought them both woe and wouche[1099].XXVIThe Douglas parted his host in three,Like a chief chieftain of pride;With surè spears of mighty tree[1100]They came in on every side;XXVII—Throughè our English archeryGave many a woond full wide;Many a doughty[1101]they gar’d to dye,Which gainèd them no pride.XXVIIIThe Englishmen let their bowès be,And pull’d out brands that were bright;It was a heavy sight to seeBright swords on basnets[1102]light.XXIXThoro’ rich mail and manoplie[1103]Many stern[1104]they struck down straight;Many a freyke[1105]that was full freeThere under foot did light.XXXAt last the Douglas and the Percy met,Like to captains of might and of main;They swapt[1106]together till they both swat[1107]With swordès of fine Milan.XXXIThese worthy freykès for to fightThereto they were full fain,Till the blood out of their basnets sprent[1108]As ever did hail or rain.XXXII‘Yield thee, Percy,’ said the Douglas,‘And i’ faith I shall thee bringWhere thou shalt have an Earl’s wagesOf Jamie our Scottish king.XXXIII‘Thou shaltè have thy ransom free,—I hight[1109]thee here this thing;For the manfullest man thou art that e’erI conquer’d in field fighting.’XXXIVBut ‘Nay’, then said the lord Percye,‘I told it thee befornThat I would never yielded beTo man of a woman born.’XXXVWith that an arrow came hastilyForth of a mighty wane[1110];And it hath stricken the Earl DouglasIn at the breastè-bane.XXXVIThoro’ liver and lungès bothThe sharp arròw is gone,That never after in his life-daysHe spake mo words but one:’Twas, ‘Fight ye, my merry men, whiles ye may,For my life-days bin gone!’XXXVIIThe Percy leanèd on his brandAnd saw the Douglas dee;He took the dead man by the hand,And said, ‘Woe is me for thee!XXXVIII‘To have sav’d thy life I’d have parted withMy lands for yearès three,For a better man of heart nor of handWas not in the north countrye.’XXXIX[All this there saw] a Scottish knight,Sir Hugh the Montgomerye:When he saw Douglas to the death was dight[1111],Through a hundred archeryeHe never stint[1112]nor he never blint[1113]Till he came to the lord Percye.XLHe set upon the lord PercỳA dint[1114]that was full sore;With a surè spear of a mighty treeThro’ the body him he bore,O’ the t’other side that a man might seeA large cloth-yard and more.XLIAn archer of NorthumberlandSaw slain was the lord Percye:He bare a bent bow in his hand,Was made of a trusty tree.XLIIAn arrow that was a cloth-yard longTo the hard steel halèd[1115]he,A dint that was both sad and sairHe set on Montgomerye.XLIIIThe dint it was both sad and sairThat he on Montgomerye set;The swan-feathers that his arrow bareWith his heart-blood they were wet.XLIVThere was never a freykè one foot would flee,But still in stoure[1116]did stand;Hewing on each other, while they might dree[1117],With many a baleful brand.XLVThis battle began in CheviotAn hour before the noon,And when the even-song bell was rungThe battle was not half done.XLVIThey took [their stand] on either handBy the [lee][1118]light of the moon;Many had no strength for to standIn Cheviot the hills abune.XLVIIOf fifteen hundred archers of EnglandWent away but seventy-and-three;Of twenty hundred spearmen of ScotlandBut even five-and-fiftỳ.XLVIIIThere was slain with the bold PercyeSir John of Agerstoune,Sir Roger, the hendè[1119]Hartley,Sir William, the bold Herone.XLIXSir George, the worthy Loumlye,A knight of great renown,Sir Ralph, the richè Rabye,With dints were beaten down.LFor Witherington my heart was woeThat ever he slain should be:For when both his legs were hewn in twoYet he kneel’d and fought on his knee.LIThere was slayn with the doughty DouglasSir Hugh the Montgomerye,Sir Davy Lambwell, that worthy was,His sister’s son was he.LIISir Charles a Murray in that place,That never a foot would flee:Sir Hew Maxwell, a lord he was,With the Douglas did he dee.LIIISo on the morrow they made them biersOf birch and hazel so gray;Many widows with weeping tearsCame to fetch their makes[1120]away.LIVTeviotdale may carp[1121]of care,Northumberland may make moan,For two such captains as slain were thereOn the March-parts shall never be none.LVWord is come to Edinboro’,To Jamie the Scottish King,Earl Douglas, lieutenant of the Marches,Lay slain Cheviot within.LVIHis hands the King did weal[1122]and wring,Said, ‘Alas! and woe is me!Such another captain Scotland withinI’ faith shall never be!’LVIIWord is come to lovely London,To the fourth Harry, our King,Lord Percy, lieutenant of the Marches,Lay slain Cheviot within.LVIII‘God have mercy on his soul,’ said King Harry,‘Good Lord, if thy will it be!I’ve a hundred captains in England,’ he said,‘As good as ever was he:But Percy, an I brook[1123]my life,Thy death well quit shall be.’LIXAnd as our King made his avowLike a noble prince of renown,For Percy he did it well performAfter, on Homble-down;LXWhere six-and-thirty Scottish knightsOn a day were beaten down;Glendale[1124]glitter’d on their armour brightOver castle, tower and town.LXIThis was the Hunting of the Cheviot;That e’er began this spurn[1125]!Old men, that knowen the ground well,Call it of Otterburn.LXIIThere was never a time on the Marche-partèsSince the Douglas and Percy met,But ’tis marvel an the red blood run notAs the reane[1126]does in the street.LXIIIJesu Christ! our balès[1127]bete[1128],And to the bliss us bring!This was the Hunting of the Cheviot:God send us all good endìng!

The Percy out of Northumberland,An avow to God made heThat he would hunt in the mountainsOf Cheviot within days three,In the maugre[1082]of doughty Douglas,And all that e’er with him be.

The fattest harts in all CheviotHe would kill and carry away.—‘By my faith,’ said the doughty Douglas again,‘I will let[1083]that hunting if I may!’

Then the Percy out of Banborowe came,With him a mighty meinye[1084],With fifteen hundred archers boldChosen out of shirès three.

This began on a Monday at morn,In Cheviot the hills so hye;The child may rue that is unborn,It was the more pitye.

The drivers through the woodès went[All] for to raise the deer,Bowmen bicker’d[1085]upon the bent[1086]With their broad arrows clear.

Then the wild[1087]thoro’ the woodès wentOn every sidè shear[1088];Greyhounds thoro’ the grevès[1089]glent[1090]For to kill their deer.

This began on Cheviot the hills abuneEarly on a Monenday;By that it drew to the hour of noonA hundred fat harts dead there lay.

They blew a mort[1091]upon the bent,They ’sembled on sidès shear;To the quarry[1092]then the Percy wentTo the brittling[1093]of the deer.

He said, ‘It was the Douglas’ promiseThis day to meet me here;But I wist he would fail, verament!’—A great oath the Percy sware.

At the last a squire of NorthumberlandLookèd at his hand full nigh;He was ware o’ the doughty Douglas coming,With him a great meinye.

Both with speär, bill and brand,—’Twas a mighty sight to see;Hardier men both of heart nor handWere not in Christiantè.

They were twenty hundred spearmen good,Withouten any fail:They were born along by the water o’ TweedI’ the boun’s[1094]o’ Teviotdale.

‘Leave off the brittling of deer,’ he said;‘To your bows look ye take good heed,For sith ye were on your mothers bornHad ye never so mickle need.’

The doughty Douglas on a steedRode all his men beforn,His armour glitter’d as did a gleed[1095],Bolder bairn[1096]was never born.

‘Tell me whose men ye are,’ he says,‘Or whose men that ye be;Who gave you leave in this Cheviot chaseIn the spite of mine and of me?’

The first man that him answer madeIt was the good Lord Percye:‘We will not tell thee whose men we are,Nor whose men that we be;But we will hunt here in this chaseIn the spite of thine and of thee.

‘The fattest harts in all CheviotWe have kill’d, to carry away.’—‘By my troth,’ said the doughty Douglas again,‘The one of us dies this day.

‘[Yet] to kill allè these guiltless menAlas, it were great pitye!But, Percy, thou art a lord of land,I an earl in my countrye—Let all our men on a party[1097]stand,And do battle of thee and me!’

‘Christ’s curse on his crown,’ said the lord Percye,‘Whosoever thereto says nay!By my troth, thou doughty Douglas,’ he says,‘Thou shalt never see that day—

—‘Neither in England, Scotland nor France,Nor for no man of woman born,But, that (and fortune be my chance)I dare meet him, one man for one.’

Then bespake a squire of Northumberland,Richard Witherington was his name;‘It shall never be told in South EnglandTo King Harry the Fourth for shame.

‘I wot you bin great lordès two,I am a poor squire of land;[Yet] I’ll ne’er see my captain fight on a fieldAnd stand myself and look on.But while that I may my weapon wieldI’ll not fail, both heart and hand.’

That day, that day, that dreadful day!—The first fytte[1098]here I find:An you’ll hear any more o’ the hunting of Cheviot,Yet there is more behind.

The Englishmen had their bows y-bent,Their hearts were good enow;The first of arrows that they shot offSeven score spearmen they slew.

Yet bides the Earl Douglas upon the bent,A captain good enoghe;And that was seenè verament,For he wrought them both woe and wouche[1099].

The Douglas parted his host in three,Like a chief chieftain of pride;With surè spears of mighty tree[1100]They came in on every side;

—Throughè our English archeryGave many a woond full wide;Many a doughty[1101]they gar’d to dye,Which gainèd them no pride.

The Englishmen let their bowès be,And pull’d out brands that were bright;It was a heavy sight to seeBright swords on basnets[1102]light.

Thoro’ rich mail and manoplie[1103]Many stern[1104]they struck down straight;Many a freyke[1105]that was full freeThere under foot did light.

At last the Douglas and the Percy met,Like to captains of might and of main;They swapt[1106]together till they both swat[1107]With swordès of fine Milan.

These worthy freykès for to fightThereto they were full fain,Till the blood out of their basnets sprent[1108]As ever did hail or rain.

‘Yield thee, Percy,’ said the Douglas,‘And i’ faith I shall thee bringWhere thou shalt have an Earl’s wagesOf Jamie our Scottish king.

‘Thou shaltè have thy ransom free,—I hight[1109]thee here this thing;For the manfullest man thou art that e’erI conquer’d in field fighting.’

But ‘Nay’, then said the lord Percye,‘I told it thee befornThat I would never yielded beTo man of a woman born.’

With that an arrow came hastilyForth of a mighty wane[1110];And it hath stricken the Earl DouglasIn at the breastè-bane.

Thoro’ liver and lungès bothThe sharp arròw is gone,That never after in his life-daysHe spake mo words but one:’Twas, ‘Fight ye, my merry men, whiles ye may,For my life-days bin gone!’

The Percy leanèd on his brandAnd saw the Douglas dee;He took the dead man by the hand,And said, ‘Woe is me for thee!

‘To have sav’d thy life I’d have parted withMy lands for yearès three,For a better man of heart nor of handWas not in the north countrye.’

[All this there saw] a Scottish knight,Sir Hugh the Montgomerye:When he saw Douglas to the death was dight[1111],Through a hundred archeryeHe never stint[1112]nor he never blint[1113]Till he came to the lord Percye.

He set upon the lord PercỳA dint[1114]that was full sore;With a surè spear of a mighty treeThro’ the body him he bore,O’ the t’other side that a man might seeA large cloth-yard and more.

An archer of NorthumberlandSaw slain was the lord Percye:He bare a bent bow in his hand,Was made of a trusty tree.

An arrow that was a cloth-yard longTo the hard steel halèd[1115]he,A dint that was both sad and sairHe set on Montgomerye.

The dint it was both sad and sairThat he on Montgomerye set;The swan-feathers that his arrow bareWith his heart-blood they were wet.

There was never a freykè one foot would flee,But still in stoure[1116]did stand;Hewing on each other, while they might dree[1117],With many a baleful brand.

This battle began in CheviotAn hour before the noon,And when the even-song bell was rungThe battle was not half done.

They took [their stand] on either handBy the [lee][1118]light of the moon;Many had no strength for to standIn Cheviot the hills abune.

Of fifteen hundred archers of EnglandWent away but seventy-and-three;Of twenty hundred spearmen of ScotlandBut even five-and-fiftỳ.

There was slain with the bold PercyeSir John of Agerstoune,Sir Roger, the hendè[1119]Hartley,Sir William, the bold Herone.

Sir George, the worthy Loumlye,A knight of great renown,Sir Ralph, the richè Rabye,With dints were beaten down.

For Witherington my heart was woeThat ever he slain should be:For when both his legs were hewn in twoYet he kneel’d and fought on his knee.

There was slayn with the doughty DouglasSir Hugh the Montgomerye,Sir Davy Lambwell, that worthy was,His sister’s son was he.

Sir Charles a Murray in that place,That never a foot would flee:Sir Hew Maxwell, a lord he was,With the Douglas did he dee.

So on the morrow they made them biersOf birch and hazel so gray;Many widows with weeping tearsCame to fetch their makes[1120]away.

Teviotdale may carp[1121]of care,Northumberland may make moan,For two such captains as slain were thereOn the March-parts shall never be none.

Word is come to Edinboro’,To Jamie the Scottish King,Earl Douglas, lieutenant of the Marches,Lay slain Cheviot within.

His hands the King did weal[1122]and wring,Said, ‘Alas! and woe is me!Such another captain Scotland withinI’ faith shall never be!’

Word is come to lovely London,To the fourth Harry, our King,Lord Percy, lieutenant of the Marches,Lay slain Cheviot within.

‘God have mercy on his soul,’ said King Harry,‘Good Lord, if thy will it be!I’ve a hundred captains in England,’ he said,‘As good as ever was he:But Percy, an I brook[1123]my life,Thy death well quit shall be.’

And as our King made his avowLike a noble prince of renown,For Percy he did it well performAfter, on Homble-down;

Where six-and-thirty Scottish knightsOn a day were beaten down;Glendale[1124]glitter’d on their armour brightOver castle, tower and town.

This was the Hunting of the Cheviot;That e’er began this spurn[1125]!Old men, that knowen the ground well,Call it of Otterburn.

There was never a time on the Marche-partèsSince the Douglas and Percy met,But ’tis marvel an the red blood run notAs the reane[1126]does in the street.

Jesu Christ! our balès[1127]bete[1128],And to the bliss us bring!This was the Hunting of the Cheviot:God send us all good endìng!

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