fenfible of his Danger, and would willingly have made his Peace. Some of the King's Officers finding him in this Difpofition, fecretly perfwaded him to make his Submiffion, adding, that they durft affure him he would be kindly receiv'd. Armstrong follow'd their Counfel, and with Sixty Horfemen unarm'd, haften'd to the King, but imprudently forgot to provide himself with Paffes, and a fafe Conduct. Those who had given him this Advice, fenfible of his Error, lay in Ambush for, furpriz'd and took him, with his Sixty Men, and carryed'em all to the King, pretending that they had made them Prifoners. Nor was he accus'd of robbing only, but of having alfo form'da Defign of delivering up all that Part of the Country to the English, and being condemn'd, he, with Fifty four of his Companions, was hang'd, the other fix were referv'd as HoStages to deter their Fellows from being guilty of the like Crime. Our Poet, I fuppofe, thought that the Gallows was too low a Death for his Heroe, and therefore rather chofe to let him dye bravely fighting. InStead of Three, he gives him a Retinue of Eightfcore Men, and lays his Scene in Edenburg, and thefe, I think, are the only material Points in which he differs from Hiftory.

S there ever a Man in all Scotland,

Is

From the highest Estate to the lowest Degree, That can fhew himself now before our King,

Scotland is fo full of Treachery?

Yes, there is a Man in Weftmorland,

And Johnny Armstrong they do him call,
He has no Lands nor Rents coming in,
Yet he keeps Eightscore Men within his Hall.

He has Horses and Harness for them all,
And goodly Steeds that be Milk-white,
With their goodly Belts about their Necks,
With Hats and Feathers all alike.

The King he writes a loving Letter,
And with his own Hand fo tenderly,
And hath fent it unto Johnny Armstrong,
To come and speak with him speedily.

When John he look'd this Letter upon,
He look'd as Blith as a Bird in a Tree,
I was never before a King in my Life,

My Father, my Grandfather, nor none of us three.

But feeing we must go before the King,
Lord, we will go moft gallantly;
Ye fhall every one have a Velvet Coat,
Laid down with golden Laces three.

And every one fhall have a fcarlet Cloak,
Laid down with filver Laces five,
With your golden Belts about your Necks,
With Hats and Feathers all alike.

But when Johnny went from Giltknock-Hall,

The Wind it blew hard, and full faft it did rain, Now fare thee well thou Giltknock-Hall,

I fear I fhall never fee thee again.

Now Johnny he is to Edenborough gone,
With his Eightscore Men fo gallantly,

And every one of them on a Milk-white Steed,

With their Bucklers and Swords hanging to their

(Knee. But

But when John came the King before,
With his Eightscore Men fo gallant to fee,
The King he mov'd his Bonnet to him,

He thought he had been a King as well as he.

O Pardon, pardon, my Sovereign Liege,
Pardon for my Eightfcore Men and me;
For my Name it is Johnny Armstrong,
And Subject of yours, my Liege, said he.

Away with thee, thou false Traytor,

No Pardon will I grant to thee,

But to-Morrow Morning by Eight of the Clock,
I will hang up thy Eightscore Men and thee.

Then Johnny look'd over his left Shoulder,
And to his merry Men thus faid he,
I have asked Grace of a graceless Face,
No Pardon there is for you and me.

Then John pull'd out his good broad Sword,
That was made of the Mettle fo free,

Had not the King moved his Foot as he did,
John had taken his Head from his fair Body.

Come follow me my merry Men all,

We will fcorn one Foot for to fly,

It fhall never be faid we were hang'd like Dogs,
We will fight it out moll manfully.

Then they fought on like Champions bold,

For their Hearts were sturdy, ftout and free, 'Till they had kill'd all the King's good Guard, There were none left alive but one, two or three.

But then rofe up all Edenborough,

They rose up by Thousands three, A cowardly Scot came John behind, And run him through the fair Body.

Said Fohn, Fight on my merry Men all,
I am a little wounded but am not flain,
I will lay me down to bleed awhile,

Then I'll rife and fight with you again.

Then they fought on like mad Men all,

Till many a Man lay dead on the Plain,
For they were refolved before they would yield,
That every Man would there be flain.

So there they fought couragiously,

'Till moft of them lay dead there and flain, But little Mufgrave, that was his Foot-Page, With his bonny Griffel got away unta'n.

But when he came to Giltknock-Hall,
The Lady fpy'd him presently,

What News, what News, thou little Foot-Page,
What News from thy Maller, and his Company.

My News is bad, Lady, he said,

Which I do bring, as you may see,
My Mafter Johnny Armstrong is flain,
And all his gallant Company.

Yet thou art welcome home, my bonny Griffel,
Full oft thou half been fed with Corn and Hay,
But now thou shalt be fed with Bread and Wine,
And thy Sides fhall be fpurr'd no more, I fay.

O then befpake his little Son,

As he fat on his Nurfe's Knee,

If ever I live to be a Man,

My Father's Death reveng'd fhall be.

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