Athe 42 tothar syde, that a man myght se, A large cloth yard and mare: Towe bettar captayns wear nat in Christiantè, An archar off Northomberlonde An arow, that a cloth yarde was lang, To th' hard stele haylde A dynt, that was both sad and sore, He sat on Sir Hewe the Mongon-byrry. The dynt yt was both sad and sar, That he of Mongon-byrry sete; The swane-fethars, that his arrowe bar," Ther was never a freake wone foot wolde fle, Heawying on yche othar, whyll the myght dre, This battell begane in Chyviat And when even song bell was rang The battell was nat half done. The tooke 'on' on ethar hand Of fifteen hondrith archers of Ynglonde Went away but fifti and thre; Of twenty hondrith spear-men of Skotlonde, Sir Jorg the worthè Lovele A knight of great renowen, Sir Raff the rych Rugbè With dyntes wear beaten dowene. For Wetharryngton my harte was wo, For when both his leggis wear hewyne in to, Ther was slayne with the dougheti Douglas Sir Davye Lwdale, that worthè was, Sir Charles a Murrè, in that place, So on the morrowe the mayde them byears 49 Tivydale may carpe 19 off care, Northombarlond may mayk grat mone, Wordeys commen to Edden burrowe, To Jamy the Skottishe kyng, That dougheti Duglas, lyff-tenant of the Merches, He lay slean Chyviot with-in. His handdes did he weal 50 and wryng, He sayd, Alas, and woe ys me! Such another captayn Skotland within, Worde ys commyn to lovly Londone That lord Persè, leyff-tennante of the Merchis, God have merci on his soll, sayd kyng Harry, 48 Fetch. 40 Lament. 60 Wail. This was the hontynge off the Cheviat; Old men that knowen the grownde well yenoughe, At Otterburn began this spurne Uppon a monnyn day: Ther was the dougghtè Doglas slean, The Persè never went away Ther was never a tym on the march partes Sen 54 the Doglas and the Persè met, But yt was marvele, and the redde blude ronne not, 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, Our lives and safetyes all; To drive the deere with hound and horne, Erle Percy took his way; The child may rue that is unborne, The hunting of that day. The stout Erle of Northumberland His pleasure in the Scottish woods The cheefest harts in Chevy-Chace These tydings to Erle Douglas came, Who sent Erle Percy present word, The English Erle, not fearing that, With fifteen hundred bow-men bold; All chosen men of might, Who knew full well in time of neede The gallant greyhounds swiftly ran, And long before high noone they had The bow-men mustered on the hills, Well able to endure; Theire backsides all, with speciall care, That day were guarded sure. The hounds ran swiftly through the woods, That with their cryes the hills and dales Lord Percy to the quarry went, But if I thought he wold not come, Noe longer wold I stay." With that, a brave younge gentleman "Loe, yonder doth Erle Douglas come, All men of pleasant Tivydale, "O, cease your sports," Erle Percy said, And now with me, my countrymen, That ever did on horsebacke come, I durst encounter man for man, Erle Douglas on his milke-white steede, Most like a baron bold, Rode formost of his company, Whose armour shone like gold. "Show me," sayd hee, "whose men you bee, That hunt soe boldly heere, That, without my consent, doe chase And kill my fallow-deere." The first man that did answer make, Who sayd, "Wee list not to declare, Yet wee will spend our deerest blood, Then Douglas swore a solempne oathe, "Ere thus I will out-braved bee, I know thee well, an erle thou art; |