Eight of them did answer make,

Eight of them spake hastilie, O father, till the daye we dye

We'll stand by that good erle and thee.

Gramercy now, my children deare,

You showe yourselves right bold and brave;

And whethersoe'er I live or dye,

A fathers blessing you shal have.

But what sayst thou, O Francis Norton, Thou art mine eldest sonn and heire: Somewhat lyes brooding in thy breast; Whatever it bee, to mee declare.

Father, you are an aged man,

Your head is white, your bearde is gray;

It were a shame at these your yeares
For you to ryse in such a fray.

Now fye upon thee, coward Francis,

Thou never learnedst this of mee: When thou wert yong and tender of age, Why did I make soe much of thee?

But, father, I will wend with you,

Unarm'd and naked will I bee; And he that strikes against the crowne, Ever an ill death may he dee.

Then rose that reverend gentleman,

And with him came a goodlye band To join with the brave Erle Percy, And all the flower o' Northumberland.

With them the noble Nevill came,

The erle of Westmorland was hee: At Wetherbye they mustred their host, Thirteen thousand faire to see.

Lord Westmorland his ancyent raisde, The Dun Bull he rays'd on hye, And three Dogs with golden collars Were there sett out most royallye.*

The supporters of the Nevilles, Earls of Westmoreland, were two bulls argent, ducally

Erle Percy there his ancyent spred,
The Halfe-Moone shining all so faire: *
The Nortons ancyent had the crosse,

And the five wounds our Lord did beare.

Then Sir George Bowes he straitwaye rose, After them some spoyle to make: Those noble erles turn'd backe againe, And aye they vowed that knight to take.

That baron he to his castle fled,

To Barnard Castle then fled hee. The uttermost walles were eathe to win,

The earles have wonne them presentlie.

The uttermost walles were lime and bricke; But though they won them soon anone, Long e'er they wan the innermost walles, For they were cut in rocke of stone.

Then newes unto leeve London came

In all the speede that ever might bee, And word is brought to our royall queene Of the rysing in the north countrie.

Her grace she turned her round about,

And like a royall queene shee swore,† I will ordayne them such a breakfast; As never was in the north before.

Shee caus'd thirty thousand men be rays'd, With horse and harneis faire to see;

collared gold, armed or, etc. But I have not discovered the device mentioned in the ballad, among the badges, etc., given by that house. This, however, is certain, that among those of the Nevilles, Lords Abergavenny (who were of the same family), is a dun cow with a golden collar; and the Nevilles of Chyte in Yorkshire (of the Westmoreland branch) gave for their crest, in 1513, a greyhound's head erased.

*The silver crescent is a well-known crest or badge of the Northumberland family. It was probably brought home from some of the crusades against the Saracens.

†This is quite in character; her Majesty would sometimes swear at her nobles, as well as box their ears.

And now that I a banisht man

Shold bring such evil happe with mee, To cause my faire and noble friends To be suspect of treacherie :

This rives my heart with double woe;
And lever had I dye this day,
Than thinke a Douglas can be false,
Or ever he will his guest betray.

If you'll give me no trust, my lord, Nor unto mee no credence yield; Yet step one moment here aside,

Ile showe you all your foes in field.

Lady, I never loved witchcraft,
Never dealt in privy wyle;
But evermore held the high-waye

Of truth and honour, free from guile.

If you'll not come yourselfe, my lorde,

Yet send your chamberlaine with mee; Let me but speak three words with him, And he shall come again to thee.

James Swynard with that lady went,

She showed him through the weme of
her ring

How many English lords there were
Waiting for his master and him.

And who walkes yonder, my good lady,
So royallyè on yonder greene?
O yonder is the lord Hunsdèn :*

Alas! he'll doe you drie and teene.

And who beth yonder, thou gay ladye, That walkes so proudly him beside? That is Sir William Drury,+ shee sayd, A keene captàine hee is and tryde.

How many miles is itt, madàme,
Betwixt yond English lords and mee?
Marry it is thrice fifty miles,

To saile to them upon the sea.

*The lord warden of the east marches. t'Governor of Berwick,

I never was on English ground,

Ne never saw it with mine eye, But as my book it sheweth mee,

And through my ring I may descrye.

My mother shee was a witch ladye,

And of her skille she learned mee; She wold let me see out of Lough-leven What they did in London citie.

But who is yond, thou lady faire,

That looketh with sic an austerne face? Yonder is Sir John Foster,* quoth shee, Alas! he'll do ye sore disgrace.

He pulled his hatt down over his browe; He wept ; in his heart he was full of woe: And he is gone to his noble Lord,

Those sorrowful tidings him to show.

Now nay, now nay, good James Swynàrd,
I may not believe that witch ladie:
The Douglasses were ever true,

And they can ne'er prove false to mee.

I have now in Lough-leven been
The most part of these years three,
Yett have I never had noe outrake,
Ne no good games that I cold see.
Therefore I'll to yond shooting wend,
As to the Douglas I have hight:
Betide me weale, betide me woe,

He ne'er shall find my promise light.

He writhe a gold ring from his finger, And gave itt to that gay ladie: Sayes, It was all that I cold save,

In Harley woods where I cold bee.† And wilt thou goe, thou noble lord,

Then farewell truth and honestie; And farewell heart and farewell hand; For never more I shall thee see.

The wind was faire, the boatmen call'd, And all the saylors were on borde;

* Warden of the middle march.

ti.e. where I was, an ancient idiom.

Then William Douglas took to his boat, And with him went that noble lord.

Then he cast up a silver wand,
Says, Gentle lady, fare thee well!
The lady fett a sigh soe deep,

And in a dead swoone down shee fell.

Now let us goe back, Douglas, he sayd, A sickness hath taken yond faire ladie; If ought befall yond lady but good,

Then blamed for ever shall bee.

Come on, come on, my lord, he sayes;
Come on, come on, and let her bee:
There's ladyes enow in Lough-leven
For to cheere that gay ladie.

If you'll not turne yourself, my lord,
Let me goe with my chamberlaine ;
We will but comfort that faire lady,

And wee will return to you againe.
Come on, come on, my lord, he sayes,
Come on, come on, and let her bee:
My sister is craftye, and wold beguile
A thousand such as you and mee.

When they had sayled* fifty myle,

Now fifty mile upon the sea;
Hee sent his man to ask the Douglas,
When they shold that shooting see.

Faire words, quoth he, they make fooles faine,

And that by thee and thy lord is seen : You may hap to thinke itt soone enough, Ere you that shooting reach, I ween.

* There is no navigable stream between Loch Leven and the sea; but a ballad-maker is not obliged to understand geography.

Jamye his hatt pulled over his browe,
He thought his lord then was betray'd;
And he is to Erle Percy againe,

To tell him what the Douglas sayd.

Hold upp thy head, man, quoth his lord;
Nor therefore lett thy courage fayle,
He did it but to prove thy heart,

To see if he cold make it quail.

When they had other fifty sayld,
Other fifty mile upon the sea,
Lord Percy called to Douglas himselfe,
Sayd, What wilt thou nowe doe with mee?

Looke that your brydle be wight, my lord,

And your horse goe swift as shipp att sea: Looke that your spurres be bright and sharpe,

That you may pricke her while she'll

away.

What needeth this, Douglas? he sayth; What needest thou to flyte with mee? For I was counted a horseman good Before that ever I mett with thee.

A false Hector hath my horse,
Who dealt with mee so treacherouslie:
A false Armstrong hath my spurres,
And all the geere belongs to mee.

When they had sayled other fifty mile,
Other fifty mile upon the sea;
They landed low by Berwicke side,

A deputed "laird" landed Lord Percye.

Then he at Yorke was doomde to dye,
It was,
alas! a sorrowful sight:
Thus they betrayed that noble earle,
Who ever was a gallant wight.