And throwing strait their bows away,
They grasp'd their swords so bright:
And now sharp blows, a heavy shower,
On shields and helmets light.]

They closed full fast on everye side,
Noe slacknes there was found;
And many a gallant gentleman
Lay gasping on the ground.

O Christ! it was a griefe to see,
And likewise for to heare,

The cries of men lying in their gore,
And scattered here and there.

At last these two stout erles did meet,
Like captaines of great might:
Like lyons wood, they layd on lode,
And made a cruell fight:

They fought untill they both did sweat,
With swords of tempered steele;
Until the blood, like drops of rain,
They trickling downe did feele.

"Yeeld thee, Lord Percy," Douglas sayd, "In faith I will thee bringe,

Where thou shalt high advanced bee
By James our Scottish king:

Thy ransome I will freely give,
And this report of thee,

Thou art the most couragious knight,
That ever I did see."

"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
Out of an English bow,

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
The dead man by the hand;
And said, "Erle Douglas, for thy life
Wold I had lost my land.

O Christ! my verry hart doth bleed
With sorrow for thy sake;
For sure, a more redoubted knight
Mischance cold never take."

A knight amongst the Scotts there was, Which saw Erle Douglas dye,

Who streight in wrath did vow revenge
Upon the Lord Percye:

Sir Hugh Mountgon.ery was he call'd,
Who, with a spere most bright,
Well-mounted on a gallant steed,
Ran fercely through the fight;

And past the English archers all,
Without all dread or feare;

And through Earl Percyes body then
He thrust his hatefull spere;

With such a vehement force and might

He did his body gore,

The staff ran through the other side
A large cloth-yard, and more.

So thus did both these nobles dye,
Whose courage none could staine:
An English archer then perceiv'd
The noble erle was slaine;

He had a bow bent in his hand,
Made of a trusty tree;
An arrow of a cloth-yard long
Up to the head drew hee:

Against Sir Hugh Mountgomerye,
So right the shaft he sett,

The grey goose-winge that was thereon,
In his harts bloode was wett.

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,
Both knights of good account,

Good Sir Ralph Raby there was slaine
Whose prowesse did surmount.

For Witherington needs must I wayle,
As one in doleful dumpes;

For when his leggs were smitten off,
He fought upon his stumpes.

And with Erle Douglas, there was slaine
Sir Hugh Mountgomerye,

Sir Charles Murray, that from the field
One foote wold never flee.

Sir Charles Murray, of Ratcliff, too,
His sisters sonne was hee;

Sir David Lamb, so well esteem'd,
Yet saved cold not bee.

And the Lord Maxwell in like case
Did with Erle Douglas dye:
Of twenty hundred Scottish speres,
Scarce fifty-five did flye.

Of fifteen hundred Englishmen,
Went home but fifty-three;

The rest were slaine in Chevy-Chase,
Under the greene woode tree.

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,
Ere they were cladd in clay.

The newes was brought to Eddenborrows
Where Scottlands king did raigne,
That brave Erle Douglas suddenlye
Was with an arrow slaine:

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;
The king's daughter of Noroway,

'Tis thou maun bring her hame.”

The first word that Sir Patrick read.
Sae loud loud laughed he:

The neist word that Sir Patrick read,
The tear blinded his e'e.

"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,
Our ship must sail the faem;

The king's daughter of Noroway,
'Tis we must fetch her hame."

They hoysed their sails on Monenday morn,
Wi' a' the speed they may;

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.