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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,
That ever he slayne shulde be;
Yet he knyled and fought on hys kne.
Ther was slayne with the dougheti Douglas
Sir Hewe the Mongon-byrry,
His sistars son was he:
Sir Charles a Murrè, in that place,
That never a foot wolde fle;
With the Duglas dyd he dey.
So on the morrowe the mayde them byears
Off byrch, and hasell so 'gray;' Many wedous with wepyng tears
Cam to fach 48 ther makys a-way.
Tivydale may carpe 49 off care,
Northombarlond may mayk grat mone,
On the march perti shall never be none.
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!
He sayd, y-feth shud never be.
Worde ys commyn to lovly Londone
Till the fourth Harry our kyng,
God have merci on his soll, sayd kyng Harry,
Good lord, yf thy will it be!
I have a hondrith captayns in Ynglonde,
As good as ever was hee:
Thy deth well quyte 52 shall be.
As our noble kyng made his a-vowe,
Lyke a noble prince of renowen,
He dyd the battel of Hombyll-dowr
Wher syx and thritte 53 Skottish knyghtes
On a day wear beaten down :
Over castill, towar, and town.
This was the hontynge off the Cheviat;
That tear begane this spurn:
Call it the Battell of Otterpurn.
At Otterburn began this spurne
Uppon a monnyn day:
The Persè never went away
Ther was never a tym on the march partes
Sen 54 the Doglas and the Persè met,
As the reane doys in the stret.
33. The more modern Ballad of Chevy Chase 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 Spoctator,' Nos. 70 and 74.
God prosper long our noble king,
Our lives and safetyes all;
In Chevy-Chace befall;
To drive the deere with hound and horne,
Erle Percy took his way;
The hunting of that day.
The stout Erle of Northumberland
A vow to God did make,
Three summers days to take;
The cheefest harts in Chevy-Chace
To kill and beare away.
In Scottland where he lay:
Who sent Erle Percy present word,
He wold prevent his sport.
With fifteen hundred bow-men bold;
All chosen men of might,
To ayme their shafts arright.
The gallant greyhounds swiftly ran,
To chase the fallow deere :
Ere day-light did appeare;
And long before high noone they had
An hundred fat buckes slaine;
To rouze the deare againe.
The bow-men mustered on the hills,
Well able to endure;
That day were guarded sure.
The hounds ran swiftly through the wooden
The nimble deere to take,
Lord Percy to the quarry went,
To view the slaughter'd deere: Quoth he, “ Erle Douglas promised
This day to meet me heere :
But if I thought he wold not come,
Noe longer wold I stay.”
Thus to the Erle did say:
“Loe, yonder doth Erle Douglas come,
His men in armour bright;
All marching in our sight;
All men of pleasant Tivydale,
Fast by the river Tweede :" “O, cease your sports,” Erle Percy said,
“And take your bowes with speede:
And now with me, my countrymen,
Your courage forth advance;
In Scotland or in France,
That ever did on horsebacke come,
But if my hap it were,
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 boo,
That hunt soe boldly heere,
And kill my fallow-deere.”
The first man that did answer make,
Was roule Percy hee;
Nor shew whose men wee bee :
Ye. wee will spend our deerest blood,
Thy cheefest harts to slay.”
And thus in rage did say,
“ Ere thus I will out-braved bec,
One of us two shall dye:
Lord Percy, soe am I.
But trust me, Percy, pittye it were,
And great offence to kill
For they have done no ill.
Let thou and I the battell trye,
And set our men aside." “Accurst bee he,” Erle Percy sayd,
By whome this is den yed.”
Then stept a gallant squier forth,
Witherington was his name, Who said, “I wold not have it told
To Henry our king for shame,
That ere my captaine fought on foote,
And I stood looking on, You bee two erles," sayd Witherington,
“And I, a squier alone:
Ile doe the best that doe I may,
While I have power to stand : While I have power to weeid my sword,
Ile fight with hart and hand.”
Our English archers bent their bowes,
Their harts were good and trew; Att the first flight of arrowes sent,
Full four-score Scots they slew.
'[Yet bides Earl Douglas on the bent,
As Chieftain stout and good. As valiant Captain, all unmov'd
The shock he firmly stood.
His host he parted had in three,
As Leader ware and try'd,
Bare down on every side.
Throughout the English archery
They dealt full many a wound: But still our valiant Englishmen
All firmly kept their ground:
i Tho four stanzas here inclosed in Brackets, which are borrowed chiefly from the apdept com.m ered to the Reader instead of the following lines, which occur in the Editor's folio W.1
To drive the deere with hound and horne,
Douglas bade on the bent;
Their speres to shivers went.