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26. Yet byddys the yerle Doglas uppon the bent,
a captayne good yenoughe, And that was sene verament,
for he wrought hom both woo and wouche. 27. The Dogglas partyd his ost in thre,
lyk a cheffe cheften off pryde; With suar’ spears off myghttë tre,
the : cum in on every syde: 28. Thrughe our Yngglyshe archery
gave many a wounde fulle wyde; Many a doughetë the garde * to dy,
which ganyde them no pryde. 29. The Ynglyshe men let ther boys be,
and pulde owt brandes that wer brighte; It was a hevy syght to se
bryght swordes on basnites & lyght. 30. Thorowe ryche male and myneyeple,
many sterne the strocke done ? streght; Many a freyke 8 that was fulle fre,
ther undar foot dyd lyght. 31. At last the Duglas and the Persë met,
lyk to captayns of myght and of mayne; The swapte togethar tylle the: both swat,
with swordes that wear of fyn myllan.'' 130
16. The first mane that ever him an answear mayd,
yt was the good lord Persë:
"nor whos men that we be;
in the spyt of thyne and of the. 17. "The fattiste hartës in all Chyviat
we have kyld, and cast to carry them away. “Be my troth,” sayd the doughetë Dogglas
"therfor the ton 2 of us shall de this day.” 18. Then sayd the doughtë Doglas
unto the lord Persë:
alas, it wear great pittë !
I am a yerle callyd within my contrë;
and do the battell off the and of me.” 80 20. "Nowe Cristes cors on his crowne," sayd the
“thow shalt never se that day, 21. “Nethar in Ynglonde, Skottlonde, nar France,
nor for no man of a woman born, But, and fortune be my chance,
I dar met him, on man for on.” 1 22. Then bespayke a squyar off Northombarlonde,
Richard Wytharyngton was his nam: 90 “It shall never be told in Sothe-Ynglonde," he
"to Kyng Herry the Fourth for sham. 23. “I wat youe byn great lordës twaw,
I am a poor squyar of lande:
and stande my selffc and loocke on,
I wylle not fayle both hart and hande." 24. That day, that day, that dredfull day!
the first fit here I fynde; And youe wyll here any mor a the hountyng a
yet ys ther mor behynde. 25. The Yngglyshe men hade ther bowys yebent,
ther hartes wer good yenoughe; The first off arros that the shote off,
seven skore spear-men the sloughe.
32. Thes worthë freckys for to fyght,
ther-to the 3 wear fulle fayne, Tylle the bloode owte off thear basnetes sprente
as ever dyd heal or rayn.
58. Tivydale may carpe off care,
Northombarlond may mayk great mon, For towe such captayns as slayne wear thear,
on the March-parti shall never be non. 240
68. Jhesue Crist our balys bete, and to the blys us brynge!
280 Thus was the hountynge of the Chivyat:
God sent us alle good endyng!
SIR PATRICK SPENS
59. Word ys commen to Eddenburrowe,
to Jamy the Skottische kynge,
60. His handdës dyd he weal' and wryng,
he sayd, “Alas, and woe ys me! Such an othar captayn Skotland within,"
he sayd, “ye-feth shuld never be."
1. The king sits in Dumferling toune,
Drinking the blude-reid wine: “O whar will I get guid sailor,
To sail this schip of mine?" 2. Up and spak an eldern knicht,
Sat at the kings richt kne: “Sir Patrick Spence is the best sailor,
That sails upon the se.” 3. The king has written a braid letter,
And signd it wi his hand,
Was walking on the sand.
A loud lauch ? lauched he;
The teir blinded his ee.
61. Worde ys commyn to lovly Londone,
till the fourth Harry our kynge, 250 That lord Persë, leyff-tenante of the Marchis,
he lay slayne Chyviat within. 62. “God have merci on his solle,” sayde Kyng
thy deth well quyte shall be.”
64. Wher syx and thrittë Skottishe knyghtes
on a day wear beaten down: Glendale glytteryde on ther armor bryght,
over castille, towar, and town.
7. “ Late, late yestreen I saw the new moone,
Wi the auld moone in hir arme,
That we will cum to harme."
65. This was the hontynge off the Cheviat,
that tear begane this spurn; ? Old men that knowen the grownde well ye
call it the battell of Otterburn. 270 66. At Otterburn begane this spurne
uppone a Monnynday;
the Persë never went away. 67. Ther was never a tym on the Marche-partës
sen the Doglas and the Persë met, But yt ys mervele and the rede blude ronne not,
as the reane: doys in the stret.
1 clench ? that ere began this fight!
1 amend ? laugh 3 loth
ere o above combs II. Haf owre, haf owre to Aberdour,
It's fiftie fadom deip,
Wi the Scots lords at his feit.
10. “I will not geve over my hous,” she saithe,
“Not for feare of my lyffe;
The slaughter of a wyffe.
11. "Fetch me my pestilett,'
And charge me my gonne,
The lord of Easter-towne."
CAPTAIN CAR, OR, EDOM O GORDON 1. It befell at Martynmas,
When wether waxed colde,
And sike and like to die;
God Lord have mercy on me! 2. “Haille, master, and wether you will,
And wether ye like it best."
And there we will take our reste."
3. “I knowe wher is a gay castle,
Is builded of lyme and stone;
Her lord is riden and gone." 4. The ladie she lend on her castle-walle,
She loked upp and downe;
Come riding to the towne.
5. “Se yow, my meri men all,
And se yow what I see?
I muse who they shold bee." 6. She thought he had ben her wed lord,
As he comd riding home;
The lord of Ester-towne.