A Bundle of Ballads | Page 8

an earl's wagis
of Jamy our Scottish king. Thou shalt have thy ransom free, I hight thee
here this thing, For the manfullest man yet art thou that ever I
conquered in field fighting."
"Nay," said the Lord Percy, "I told it
thee beforn,
That I would never yielded be to no man of a woman
born."
With that there came an arrow hastily forth of a mighty wone;
It hath stricken the Earl Douglas in at the breastbone.
Through liver
and lung-es both the sharp arrow is gone,
That never after in all his
life-days he spake mo word-es but one, That was, "Fight ye, my merry
men, whilis ye may, for my life-days ben gone!"
The Percy lean-ed
on his brand and saw the Douglas dee;
He took the dead man by the
hand, and said, "Wo is me for thee! To have saved thy life I would have
parted with my lands for years three,
For a better man of heart nor of
hand was not in all the north countree."
Of all that see, a Scottish
knight, was called Sir Hugh the Montgomery,
He saw the Douglas to the death was dight, he spended a spear a trusty
tree,
He rode upon a coursiere through a hundred archer-y,
He
never stinted nor never blane till he came to the good Lord Perc-y. He
set upon the Lord Percy a dint that was full sore;
With a suar spear of
a mighty tree clean thorough the body he the Percy bore
On the tother
side that a man might see a large cloth yard and more. Two better

captains were not in Christiant-e than that day slain were there.
An
archer of Northumberland saw slain was the Lord Perc-y,
He bare a
bent bow in his hand was made of trusty tree,
An arrow that a cloth
yard was long to the hard steel hal-ed he, A dint that was both sad and
sore he sat on Sir Hugh the Montgomer-y. The dint it was both sad and
sore that he on Montgomery set, The swan-feathers that his arrow bare,
with his heart-blood they were wet.
There was never a freke one foot
would flee, but still in stour did stand,
Hewing on each other while
they might dree with many a baleful brand. This battle began in
Cheviot an hour before the noon,
And when evensong bell was rang
the battle was not half done. They took on either hand by the light of
the moon,
Many had no strength for to stand in Cheviot the hillis
aboon. Of fifteen hundred archers of England went away but seventy
and three, Of twenty hundred spearmen of Scotland but even five and
fift-y; But all were slain Cheviot within, they had no strength to stand
on hy:
The child may rue that is unborn, it was the more pity.
There
was slain with the Lord Percy Sir John of Agerstone,
Sir Roger the
hinde Hartley, Sir William the bold Herone,
Sir George the worthy
Lumley, a knight of great renown,
Sir Ralph the rich Rugby, with
dints were beaten down;
For Witherington my heart was wo, that ever
he slain should be, For when both his leggis were hewen in two, yet he
kneeled and fought on his knee.
There was slain with the doughty
Douglas Sir Hugh the Montgomer-y; Sir Davy Lewdale, that worthy
was, his sister's son was he; Sir Charles of Murray in that place that
never a foot would flee; Sir Hugh Maxwell, a lord he was, with the
Douglas did he dee. So on the morrow they made them biers of birch
and hazel so gay; Many widows with weeping tears came to fetch their
makis away. Tivydale may carp of care, Northumberland may make
great moan, For two such captains as slain were there on the March
parti shall never be none.
Word is comen to Edinborough to Jamy the
Scottish king,
That doughty Douglas, lieutenant of the Marches, he
lay slain Cheviot within.
His hand-es did he weal and wring; he said,
"Alas! and woe is me: Such another captain Scotland within," he said,
"yea faith should never be."
Word is comen to lovely London, to the
fourth Harry our king, That Lord Perc-y, lieutenant of the Marches, he

lay slain Cheviot within.
"God have mercy on his soul," said King
Harry, "good Lord, if thy will it be,
I have a hundred captains in
England," he said, "as good as ever was he;
But Percy, an I brook my
life, thy death well quite shall be." As our noble king made his avow,
like a noble prince of renown, For the death of the Lord Perc-y he did
the battle of Homildoun, Where six and thirty Scottish knights on a day
were beaten down; Glendale glittered on their armour bright, over
castle, tower, and town.
This was the hunting of the Cheviot; that tear
began this spurn; Old men that knowen the ground well enough call it