And throwing strait their bows away, They closed full fast on everye side, O Christ! it was a griefe to see, The cries of men lying in their gore, At last these two stout erles did meet, They fought untill they both did sweat, "Yeeld thee, Lord Percy," Douglas sayd, "In faith I will thee bringe, Where thou shalt high advanced bee Thy ransome I will freely give, Thou art the most couragious knight, "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 Which struck Erle Douglas to the heart, A deepe and deadlye blow: Who never spake more words than these, "Fight on, my inerry men all; For why, my life is at an end; Lord Percy sees my fall." Then leaving liffe, Erle Percy tooke O Christ! my verry hart doth bleed A knight amongst the Scotts there was, Which saw Erle Douglas dye, Who streight in wrath did vow revenge Sir Hugh Mountgon.ery was he call'd, And past the English archers all, And through Earl Percyes body then With such a vehement force and might He did his body gore, The staff ran through the other side So thus did both these nobles dye, He had a bow bent in his hand, Against Sir Hugh Mountgomerye, The grey goose-winge that was thereon, This fight did last from breake of day, Till setting of the sun; For when they rung the evening-bell, The battel scarce was done. With stout Erle Percy, there was slaine, Sir John of Egerton, Sir Robert Ratcliff, and Sir John, Sir James that bold barròn: And with Sir George and stout Sir James, Good Sir Ralph Raby there was slaine For Witherington needs must I wayle, For when his leggs were smitten off, And with Erle Douglas, there was slaine Sir Charles Murray, that from the field Sir Charles Murray, of Ratcliff, too, Sir David Lamb, so well esteem'd, And the Lord Maxwell in like case Of fifteen hundred Englishmen, The rest were slaine in Chevy-Chase, Next day did many widdowes come, Their husbands to bewayle; They washt their wounds in brinish teares, But all wold not prevayle. Theyr bodyes bathed in purple gore, They bare with them away: They kist them dead a thousand times, The newes was brought to Eddenborrows Our king has written a braid letter, And seal'd it with his hand, And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens, Was walking on the strand. "To Noroway, to Noroway, To Noroway o'er the faem; 'Tis thou maun bring her hame.” The first word that Sir Patrick read. The neist word that Sir Patrick read, "O wha is this has done this deed, And tauld the king o' me, To send us out, at this time of the year, To sail upon the sea? Be it wind, be it weet, be it hail, be it sleet, The king's daughter of Noroway, They hoysed their sails on Monenday morn, They ha'e landed in Noroway, Upon a Wodensday. 4 And I ha'e brought a half-fou of gude red goud, Out o'er the sea wi' me. |