"Yelde the, Perse," sayde the Doglas, "and i feth I shalle the brynge Wher thowe shalte have a yerls wagis of Jamy our Skottish kynge. "Thou shalte have thy ransom fre, I hight25 the hear this thinge; For the manfullyste man yet art thowe that ever I conqueryd in filde fighttynge." "Nay," sayd the lord Perse, "I tolde it the beforne, That I wolde never yeldyde be to no man of a woman born." With that ther cam an arrowe hastely, Thorowe lyvar and longes bathe the sharpe arrowe ys gane, That never after in all his lyffe-days he spayke mo wordes but ane: That was, "Fyghte ye, my myrry men, whyllys ve may, for my lyff-days ben gan.' The Perse leanyde on his brande, and sawe the Duglas de; He tooke the dede mane by the hande, and sayd, "Wo ys me for the! "To have savyde thy lyffe, I wolde have partyde with my landes for years thre, For a better man, of hart nare of hande, was nat in all the north contre." 33 POPULAR BALLADS Off all that se a Skottishe knyght, was callyd Ser Hewe the Monggombyrry; He sawe the Duglas to the deth was dyght, he spendyd27 a spear, a trusti tre. He rod uppone a corsiare 28 throughe a hondrith archery: He set uppone the lorde Persë a dynte that was full soare; With a suar spear of a myghtte tre clean thorow the body he the Persë ber, A the tothar syde that a man myght se Towe bettar captayns wear nat in Cristiante An archar off Northomberlonde An arow, that a cloth-yarde was lang, 30 to the harde stele halyde he; A dynt that was both sad and soar he sat on Ser Hewe the Monggombyrry. The dynt yt was both sad and sar, Ther was never a freake wone foot wolde fle, but still in stour dyd stand, Heawyng on yche othar, whylle the myghte dre,32 with many a balfull brande. This battell begane in Chyviat an owar before the none, And when even-songe bell was rang, the battell was nat half done. The tocke . . . 33 on ethar hande be the lyght off the mone; Many hade no strenght for to stande, in Chyviat the hillys abon. Of fifteen hondrith archars of Ynglonde went away but seventi and thre; Of twenti hondrith spear-men of Skotlonde, but even five and fifti. But all wear slayne Cheviat within; the hade no strengthe to stand on hy; The chylde may rue that ys unborne, it was the mor pitte. Thear was slayne, withe the lord Persë, Ser Rogar, the hinde34 Hartly, Ser Wyllyam, the bolde Hearone. Ser Jorg, the worthe Loumle, a knyghte of great renowen, Ser Raff, the ryche Rugbe, with dyntes wear beaten dowene. For Wetharryngton my harte was wo, that ever he slayne should be; For when both his leggis wear hewyne in to, yet he knyled and fought on hys kny. Ther was slayne, with the dougheti Duglas, Ser Hewe the Monggombyrry, Ser Dany Lwdale, that worthe was, his sistars son was he. 23 break in the text. 34 courteous. Ser Charls a Murre in that place, that never a foot wolde fle; Ser Hewe Maxwelle, a lorde he was, with the Doglas dyd he dey. So on the morrowe the mayde them by ears off birch and hasell so grey; Many wedous, with wepying tears, Tivydale may carpe off care, Northombarlond may mayk great mon, For towe such captayns as slayne wear thear, on the March-parti shall never be non. Word ys commen to Eddenburrowe, to Jamy the Skottische kynge, That dougheti Duglas, lyff-tenant of the Marches he lay slean Chyviot within. His handdes dyd he weal and wryng, Worde ys commyn to lovly Londone, "God have merci on his solle," sayde Kyng Harry, "good Lord, yf thy will it be! I have a hondrith captayns in Ynglonde," he sayd, "as good as ever was he: But, Persë, and I brook my lyffe, thy deth well quyte shall be." 35 mates. As our noble kynge mayd his avowe, he dyde the battell of Hombyll-down; Wher syx and thritte Skottishe knyghtes on a day wear beaten down: Glendale glytteryde on ther armor bryght, over castille, towar, and town. This was the hontynge off the Cheviat, 36 that tears began this spurn; 37 Old men that knowen the grownde well yenoughe call it the battell of Otterburn. At Otterburn begane this spurne uppone a Monnynday; Ther was the doughte Doglas slean, the Perse never went away. Ther was never a tym on the Marche-partes But yt ys mervele and the rede blude ronne not, 38 and to the blys us brynge! Thus was the hountynge of the Chivyat: God sent us alle good endyng! 36 e'er. "O WHERE have you been, my long, long love, "O I'm come to seek my former vows Ye granted me before." |