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“Yelde the, Persë,” 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 hight the hear this thinge;
that ever I conqueryd in filde fighttynge.”
“Nay,” sayd the lord Persë,
“I toļde it the beforne, That I wolde never yeldyde be
to no man of a woman born."
With that ther cam an arrowe hastely,
forthe off a myghtte wane:20 Hit hathe strekene the yerle Duglas
in at the brest-bane.
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 ye
may, for my lyff-days ben gan.”
The Persë 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.” 25 promise.
Off all that se a Skottishe knyght,
was callyd Ser Hewe the Monggombyrry; He sawe the Duglas to the deth was dyght,
he spendyda' a spear, a trusti tre.
He rod uppone a corsiare
throughe a hondrith archery: He never stynttyde, nar never blane, 28
tylle he cam to the good lord Persë.
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
a large cloth-yard and mare: Towe bettar captayns wear nat in Cristiante
then that day slan wear ther.
An archar off Northomberlonde
sayao slean was the lord Persë; He bar a bende bowe in his hand,
was made off trusti tre.
An arow, that a cloth-yarde was lang,
to the harde stele halydes he; A dynt that was both sad and soar
he sat31 on Ser Hewe the Monggombyrry.
The dynt yt was both sad and sar,
that he of Monggomberry sete; The swane-fethars that his arrowe bar
with his hart-blood the wear wete.
Ther was never a freake wone foot wolde fle,
but still in stour dyd stand, Heawyng on yche othar, whylle the myghte dre, 82 This battell begane in Chyviat
with many a balfull brande. 27 grasped. 28 stopped. 29 saw. 30 drew. 31 set upon. $2 endure.
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,
Sir Johan of Agerstone,
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,
his sistars son was he. W break in the text.
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,
cam to fache ther makys away.
Tivydale may carpe off care,
Northombarlond may mayk great mon,
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,
he sayd, “Alas, and woe ys me! Such an othar captayn Skotland within,”
he sayd, "ye-feth shuld never be.”
Worde ys commyn to lovly Londone,
till the fourth Harry our kynge, That lord Persë, leyff-tenante of the Marchis,
he lay slayne Chyviat within.
“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.”
As our noble kynge mayd his avowe,
lyke a noble prince of renowen, For the deth of the lord Persë
he dyde the battell of Hombyll-down;
Wher syx and thritte Skottishe knyghtes
on a day wear beaten down:
over castille, towar, and town.
This was the hontynge off the Cheviat,
that tear38 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;
the Persë never went away.
Ther was never a tym on the Marche-partes
sen the Doglas and the Persë met, But yt ys mervele and the rede blude ronne not,
as the reane38 doys in the stret.
Ihesue Crist our balys bete,39
and to the blys us brynge!
“O WHERE have you been, my long, long love,
This long seven years and mair?”