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For Witherington my heart is woe,
That ever he slaine should be:
For when his legs were hewn in two
He knelt and fought on his knee.

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

Sir Charles Murray, that from the feeld.
One foot would never flee.

Sir Charles Murray of Ratcliffe, too,
His sister's sonne was hee;
Sir David Lamb, so well esteem'd,
But saved he could 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 in Chevy-Chace were slaine,
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.

Their bodyes, bathed in purple blood,
They bore with them away:
They kist them dead a thousand times,
Fre they were cladd in clay.

The news was brought to Eddenborrow,
Where Scottland's king did raigne,
That brave Erle Douglas suddenlye
Was with an arrow slaine:

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"O heavy news," king James did say, "Scottland can witness bee,

"I have not any captaine more Of such account as hee."

Like tydings to king Henry came,
Within as short a space,
That Percy of Northumberland
Was slaine in Chevy-Chace:

"Now by my faith," said then our king,
"Sith 'twill noe better bee;
I trust I have, within my realme,
Five hundred as good as bee:

"Yet shall not Scotts nor Scottland say,
But I will vengeance take:
I'll be revenged on them all,
For brave Erle Percy's sake."

This vow full well the king perform'd
After, at Humbledowne;

In one day, fifty knights were slayne,
With lords of high renowne:

And of the rest, of small account,
Did many hundreds dye.
Thus endeth the hunting of Chevy-Chace,
Made by the Erle Percy.

God save the king, and bless this land
With plentye, joy, and peace;
And grant, henceforth, that foule debate
"Twixt noblemen may cease.




Now ponder well, you parents deare,
These wordes which I shall write ;
A doleful story you shall heare,
In time brought forth to light.
A gentleman of good account
In Norfolk dwelt of late,
Whose wealth and riches did surmount
Most men of his estate.

Sore sick he was, and like to dye,
No help his life could save;
His wife by him as sicke did lye,
And both possest one grave.
No love between these two was lost,
Each was to other kinde,

In love they lived, in love they dyed,
And left two babes behinde:

The one a fine and pretty boy,
Not passing three yeares olde:
The other a girl more young than he
And made in beauty's molde.
The father left his little son,

As plainlye doth appeare,
When he to perfect age
should come,
Three hundred pounds a yeare.

And to his little daughter Jane,

Two hundred pounds in 'gold,
To be paid downe on marriage-day,
Which might not be controll'd.

But if the children chance to dye,

Ere they to age should come, Their uncle should possesse their wealth; For so the will did run.

"Now, brother," said the dying man,
"Look to my children deare;
Be good unto my boy and girl,

No friendes else have they here:
To God and you I do commend

My children night and day; A little while be sure we have Within this world to staye.

"You must be father and mother both,
And uncle, all in one;

God knowes what will become of them,
When I am dead and gone."

With that bespake their mother deare,
"O brother kinde," quoth shee,
"You are the man must bring my babes
To wealth or miserie:

"If you do keep them carefully, Then God will you reward; If otherwise you seem to deal,

God will your deedes regard." With lippes as cold as any stone, They kist the children small; "God bless you both, my children deare !" With that the teares did fall.

These speeches then their brother spoke
To this sick couple there;
"The keeping of your children dear,
Sweet sister, do not feare:

God never prosper me nor mine,
Nor aught else that I have,
If I do wrong your children deare,
When you are layd in grave."

Their parents being dead and gone,
The children home he takes
And brings them both unto his house,
Where much of them he makes.
He had not kept these pretty babes
A twelvemonth and a daye,
But, for their wealth, he did devise
To make them both awaye.

He bargain'd with two ruffians rude,
Which were of furious mood,
That they should take the children young,
And slay them in a wood.

He told his wife, and all he had,
He would the children send
To be brought up in faire London
With one that was his friend.

Away then went the pretty babes,
Rejoycing at that tide,
Rejoycing with a merry minde,

They should on cock-horse ride.
They prate and prattle pleasantly,
As they rode on the waye,
To those that should their butchers be,
And work their lives' decaye:

So that the pretty speeche they had,
Made murtherer's heart relent:
And they that tooke the deed to do,
Full sore they did repent.

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