"Yield thee, Lord Piercy," Douglas said;

"In faith I will thee bring,

Where thou shalt high advanced be
By James, our Scottish king.

"Thy ransom I will freely give, And thus report of thee,

Thou art the most couragious knight

That ever I did see.

"No, Douglas," quoth Earl Piercy then,

"Thy proffer I do scorn;

I will not yield to any Scot
That ever yet was born."

With that, there came an arrow keen

Out of an English bow,

Which struck Earl Douglas to the heart,

A deep and deadly blow:

Who never spoke more words than these,
"Fight on, my merry men all;
For why, my life is at an end,
Lord Piercy sees my fall."

Then leaving life, Earl Piercy took
The dead man by the hand;
And said, "Earl Douglas, for thy life.
Would I had lost my land!

"O Christ! my very heart doth bleed
With sorrow for thy sake;

For sure, a more renowned knight
Mischance did never take."

A knight amongst the Scots there was,
Which saw Earl Douglas dye,
Who straight in wrath did vow revenge
Upon the Earl Piercy.

Sir Hugh Montgomery was he call'd,
Who, with a spear most bright,
Well-mounted on a gallant steed,
Ran fiercely thro' the fight;

And pass'd the English archers all,
Without all dread or fear,

And through Earl Piercy's body then
He thrust his hateful spear.

With such a veh'ment force and might He did his body gore,

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

So thus did both these nobles dye,
Whose courage none could stain;
An English archer then perceiv'd
The noble earl was slain.

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 he.

Against Sir Hugh Montgomery

So right his shaft he set,

The grey goose-wing that was thereon In his heart's blood was wet.

This fight did last from break of day

Till setting of the sun;

For when they rung the evening-bell,

The battel scarce was done.

With the Earl Piercy, there was slain,

Sir John of Ogerton,

Sir Robert Ratcliff, and Sir John,

Sir James, that bold baron.

And with Sir George and good Sir James,
Both knights of good account,

Good Sir Ralph Rabby there was slain,
Whose prowess did surmount.

For Witherington needs must I wail,

As one in doleful dumps;

For when his legs were smitten off,
He fought upon his stumps.

And with Earl Douglas, there was slain

Sir Hugh Montgomery,

Sir Charles Currel, that from the field
One foot would never fly.

Sir Charles Murrel, of Ratcliff, too,

His sister's son was he;

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

And the Lord Maxwell in like wise
Did with Earl Douglas dye;
Of twenty hundred Scottish spears
Scarce fifty-five did fly.

Of fifteen hundred Englishmen,
Went home but fifty-three;
The rest were slain in Chevy-Chace,
Under the green-wood tree.

Next day did many widows come,

Their husbands to bewail;

They wash'd their wounds in brinish tears,

But all would not prevail.

Their bodies, bath'd in purple blood,
They bore with them away:

They kiss'd them dead a thousand times,
When they were clad in clay.

This news was brought to Edinburgh,
Where Scotland's king did reign,
That brave Earl Douglas suddenly
Was with an arrow slain.

"O heavy news," King James did say; "Scotland can witness be,

I have not any captain more
Of such account as he."

Like tidings to King Henry came,

Within as short a space,

That Piercy of Northumberland

Was slaine in Chevy-Chace.

"Now God be with him," said our king,

"Sith 't will no better be;

I trust I have within my realm
Five hundred as good as he.

"Yet shall not Scot nor Scotland say,

But I will vengeance take,

And be revenged on them all,

For brave Earl Piercy's sake."

This vow full well the king perform'd
After, on Humbledown;

In one day, fifty knights were slain,
With lords of great renown.

And of the rest, of small account,

Did many thousands dye:

Thus endeth the hunting of Chevy Chace,

Made by the Earl Piercy.

God save the king, and bless the land

In plenty, joy, and peace;

And grant henceforth, that foul debate

'Twixt noblemen may cease.

EDOM O' GORDON.

From Ritson's "Scottish Songs."

T fell about the Martinmas,

Quhen the wind blew schrile and cauld, Said Edom o' Gordon to his men,

"We maun draw to a hauld.

"And what an a hauld sall we draw to,

My merry men and me?

We will gae to the house of the Rodes,

To see that fair ladie."

She had nae sooner busket hersell,

Nor putten on her gown,
Till Edom o' Gordon and his men
Were round about the town.

They had nae sooner sitten down,
Nor sooner said the grace,
Till Edom o' Gordon and his men
Were closed about the place.

The lady ran up to her tower head,
As fast as she could drie,
To see if by her fair speeches,
She could with him agree.