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The wear twenty hondrith spear-men Then bespayke a squyar off Northomgood
barlonde, Withouten any fayle ;
Ric. Wytharynton was him nam; The wear borne a-long be the watter a It shall never be told in Sothe-YngTwyde,
londe, Yth 12 bowndes of Tividale.
To kyng Herry the fourth for sham. Leave off the brytlyng of the dear, he I wat 17 youe byn 18 great lordes twaw, sayde,
[heed ; I am a poor squyar of lande ; And to your bowys look ye tayk good I will never se my captayne fyght on a For never sithe ye wear on your mothars
And stande my-selffe, and looke on, Had ye never so mickle need.
But whyll I may my weppone welde,
I wyll not ‘fayl' both harte and The dougheti Dogglas on a stede
hande. He rode att his men beforne; His armor glytteryde as dyd a glede ; 13 That day, that day, that dredfull day ; A bolder barne was never born.
The first fit here I fynde. Tell me what' men ye ar, he says,
And youe wyll here any mor athe
hountyng athe Chyviat, Or whos men that ye be:
Yet ys ther mor behynde.
THE SECOND FIT.
The Yngglishe men hade ther bowys mayd, Yt was the good lord Persè :
The hartes were good yenoughe; We wyll not tell the what’ men we ar, he says,
The first of arros that the shote off, Nor whos men that we be;
Seven skore spear-inen the sloughe.19 But we wyll hount hear in this chays Yet bydys the yerle Doglas uppon the In the spyte of thyne, and of the.
bent The fattiste hartes in all Chyviat
A captayne good yenoughe,
And that was sene verament, We have kyld, and cast 14 to carry them a-way.
For he wrought hom both woo and
wouche.20 Be my troth, sayd the doughtè Dogglas agayn,
The Dogglas pertyd his ost in thre, Ther-for the ton 15 of us shall de this Lyk a cheffe cheften 21 off pryde, day.
With suar 22 speares off myghttè tre Then sayd the doughtè Doglas
The cum in on every syde. Unto the lord Persè :
Thrughe our Yngglishe archery To kyll all thes giltless men,
Gave many a wounde full wyde ; A-las! it wear great pittè.
Many a doughete the garde to dy, But, Persè, thowe art a lord of lande,
Which ganyde 23 them no pryde. I am a yerle
callyd within my The Yngglishe men let thear bowys contre;
be, Let all our men uppone a parti stande; And pulde 24 owt brandes that wer
And do the battell off the and of me. bright; Now Cristes cors on his crowne, sayd
It was a hevy syght to se the lord Persè,
Bryght swordes on basnites 25 lyght. Who-soever ther-to says nay.
Thorowe ryche male, and myne-ye-ple Be my troth, doughtè Doglas, he says, Many sterne the stroke downe streight: Thow shalt never se that day;
Many a freyke 26 that was full free,
That undar foot dyd lyght.
At last the Duglas and the Persè met, Nor for no man of a woman born, Lyk to captayns of myght and maync; But and fortune be my chance,
The swapte togethar tyll the both swat I dar met him on man for on.
With swordes, that wear of fyn myllàn.
12 In the. 13 A red hot coal.
20 Michier. 21 Obieftain.
:6 Earl. 17 Know 18 Are. 19 Slew.
Athe 42 tothar syde, that a man myght sc,
Then that day slain wear ther.
37 Saw. 45 Fight
An archar off Northomberlonde Say slean was the lord Persè, He bar a bende-bow in his hande, Was made off trusti tre:
An arow, that a cloth yarde was lang, To th' hard stele haylde 43 he;
A dynt, that was both sad and sore, He sat on Sir Hewe the Mongonbyrry.
The dynt yt was both sad and sar,
With his hart blood the wear wete.
Ther was never a freake wone foot wolde fle,
But still in stour 45 dyd stand, Heawying on yche othar, whyll the myght dre,
With many a bal-ful brande.
Be the lyght off the mone;
Of fifteen hondrith archars of Ynglonde
Went away but fifti and thre; Of twenty hondrith spear-men of Skotlonde,
But even five and fifti:
But all wear slayne Cheviat within: The hade no strengthe to stand on hie;
The chylde may rue that ys un-borne, It was the mor pittè.
Thear was slayne with the lord Persè
Sir Wyllyam the bolde Hearone.
A knight of great renowen, Sir Raff the rych Rugbè
With dyntes wear beaten dowene.
30 Ane, one, c. man.
31 Both. 38 Put. 39 Grasped. 46 Hour. 47 Above.
For Wetharryngton my harte was wo, God have merci on his soll, sayd kyng
I have a hondrith captayns in YngYet he knyled and fought on hys kne.
As good as ever was hee :
Thy deth well quyte 52 shall be.
Lyke a noble prince of renowen, Sir Charles a Murrè, in that place,
For the deth of the lord Persè, That never a foot wolde fle;
He dyd the battel of Hombyll-down : Sir Hewe Maxwell, a lorde he was, Wher syx and thritte 53 Skottish knyghtes With the Duglas dyd he dey.
On a day wear beaten down : So on the morrowe the mayde them
Glendale glytteryde on ther armor byears
bryght, Off byrch, and hasell so 'gray;'
Over castill, towar, and town. Many wedous with wepyng tears
This was the hontynge off the Cheviat; Cam to fach 48 ther makys a-way. That tear begane this spurn : Tivydale may carpe 49 off care,
Old men that knowen the grownde well Northombarlond may mayk grat mone,
yenoughe, For towe such captayns, as slayne wear
Call it the Battell of Otterburn. thear,
At Otterburn began this spurne On the march perti shall never be none.
Uppon a monnyn day : Wordeys commen to Edden burrowe, Ther was the dougghtè Doglas slean, To Jamy the Skottishe kyng,
The Persè never went away. That dougheti Duglas, lyff-tenant of the
Ther was never a tym on the march Merches,
partes He lay slean Chyviot with-in.
Sen 54 the Doglas and the Persè met, His handdes did he weal 50 and wryng, But yt was marvele, and the redde blude He sayd, Alas, and woe ys me!
ronne not, Such another captayn Skotland within, As the reane doys in the stret. He sayd, y-feth shud never be.
Jhesue Christ our balys bete, Worde ys commyn to lovly Londone And to the blys us bryuge !
Till the fourth Harry our kyng, Thus was the bountynge of the CheThat ord Persè, leyff-tennante of the
vyat : Merchis,
God send us all good ending! He lay slayne Chyviat within.
33. The more modern Ballad of Chevy Chase. This form of the Ballad was probably written not much later than the time of Queen Elizabeth. It is the one criticised by Addison in the 'Spectator,' Nos. 70 and 74.
God prosper long our noble king,
The stout Erle of Northumberland Our lives and safetyes all ;
A vow to God did make, A woefull hunting once there did
His pleasure in the Scottish woods
Three summers days to take;
To kill and beare away. The child may rue that is unborne, These tydings to Erle Douglas came, he hunting of that day.
In Scottland where he lay :
Who sent Erle Percy present word, Erle Douglas on his milke-white steede, He wold prevent his sport.
Most like a baron bold, The English Erle, not fearing that,
Rode formost of his company, Did to the woods resort
Whose armour shone like gold.
All chosen men of might,
That, without my consent, doe chase The gallant greyhounds swiftly ran,
And kill my fallow-deere." To chase the fallow deere :
The first man that did answer make, On munday they began to hunt,
Was noble Percy hee ; Ere day-light did appeare ;
Who says, “Wee list not to declare,
Nor shew whose men wee bee : And long before high noone they liad
An hundred fat buckes slaine ; Yet wee will spend our deerest blood, Then having dined, the drovyers went Thy cheefest harts to slay." To rouze the deare againe.
Then Douglas swore a solempne oathe,
And thus in rage did say,
“ Ere thus I will out-braved bee,
I know thee well, an erie thou art ;
Lord Percy, soe am I. The hounds ran swiftly through the woods,
But trust me, Percy, pittye it were,
And great offence to kill
For they have done no ill.
Let thou and I the battell trye,
And set our men aside.”
“ By whome this is denyed." But if I thought he wold not come, Then stept a gallant squier forth, Noe longer wold I stay.”
Witherington was his name, With that, a brave younge gentleman Who said, “I wold not have it told Thus to the Erle did say :
To Henry our king for shame, Loe, yonder doth Erle Douglas come, That ere my captaine fought on foote, His men in armour bright;
And I stood looking on, Full twenty hundred Scottish speres You bee two erles,” sayd Witherington, All marching in our sight;
“ And I, a squier alone : All men of pleasant Tivydale,
Ile doe the best that doe I may, Fast by the river Tweede :”
While I have power to stand : “0, cease your sports,” Erle Percy said, While I have power to weeld my sword,
And take your bowes with speede : Ile fight with hart and hand.” And now with me, my countrymen, Our English archers bent their bowes, Your courage forth advance ;
Their harts were good and trew; For there was never champion yett, Att the first flight of arrowes sent, In Scotland or in France,
Full four-score Scots they slew. That ever did on horsebacke come, [Yet bides Earl Douglas on the bent, But if my hap it were,
As Chieftain stout and good. I durst encounter man for man,
As valiant Captain, all unmoy'd With him to break a spere."
The shock he firmly stood.
I The 4 stanzas here inclosed in Brackets, which are borrowed chiefly from the ancient Copy are offered to the Reader instead of the following lines, which occur in the Editor's folio MS. :
To drive the deere with hound and horne,
Douglas bade on the bent ;
Their speres to shivers went.
His host he parted had in three,
As Leader ware and try'd,
Bare down on every side.
They dealt full many a wound :
All firmly kept their ground :
They grasp'd their swords so bright : And now sharp blows, a heavy shower,
On shields and helmets light.] They closed full fast on everye side,
Noe slacknes there was found ;
Lay gasping on the ground.
And likewise for to heare,
And scattered here and there.
Like captaines of great might :
And made a cruell fight : They fought untill they both did sweat,
With swords of tempered steele ; Until the blood, like drops of rain,
They trickling downe did feele. “ Yeeld thee, Lord Percy," Douglas
sayd ; “In faith I will thee bringe, Where thou shalt high advanced bee
By James our Scottish king :
And this report of thee,
That ever I did see." "Noe, Douglas,” quoth Erle Percy
then, “Thy proffer I doe scorne ; I will not yeelde to any Scott,
That ever yett was borne.” With that, there came an arrow keene • Out of an English bow, Which struck Erle Douglas to the heart,
A deepe and deadlye blow : Who never spake more words than
Lord Percy sees my fall."
The dead man by the hand;
Wold I had lost my land.
O Christ ! my verry hart doth bleed
With sorrow for thy sake;
Mischance cold never take.”
Which saw Erle Douglas dye, Who streight in wrath did vow re
venge Upon the Lord Percye : Sir Hugh Mountgomery was he call'd,
Who, with a spere most bright, Well-mounted on a gallant steed,
Ran fiercely through the fight;
Without all dread or feare;
He thrust his hatefull spere ;
He did his body gore,
A large cloth-yard, and more.
Whose courage none could staine :
The noble erle was slaine ;
Made of a trusty tree ;
Up to the head drew hee :
So right the shaft he sett, The grey goose-winge that was thereofi,
In his harts bloode was wett. This fight did last from breake of day,
Till setting oi the sun ; For when they rung the evening-bell,
The battel scarce was done.
Sir John of Egerton,
Sir James that bold barròn :
James, Both knights of good account, Good Sir Ralph Raby there was slaine
Whose prowesse did surmount.
As one in doleful duinpes ;
He fought upon his stumpes.
Sir Hugh Mountgomerye,