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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

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16. The first mane that ever him an answear mayd,

yt was the good lord Persë:
“We wyll not tell the whoys men wear," he says,

"nor whos men that we be;
But we wyll hounte hear in this chays,

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

agayn,

"therfor the ton 2 of us shall de this day.” 18. Then sayd the doughtë Doglas

unto the lord Persë:
"To kyll alle thes giltles men,

alas, it wear great pittë !
19. “But, Persë, thowe art a lord of lande,

I am a yerle callyd within my contrë;
Let all our men uppone a parti stande,

and do the battell off the and of me.” 80 20. "Nowe Cristes cors on his crowne," sayd the

lord Persë,
"who-so-ever ther-to says nay;
Be my troth, doughttë Doglas,” he says,

“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

says,

"to Kyng Herry the Fourth for sham. 23. “I wat youe byn great lordës twaw,

I am a poor squyar of lande:
I wylle never se my captayne fyght on a fylde,

and stande my selffc and loocke on,
But whylle I may my weppone welde,

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

the Chyviat,

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.

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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.

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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,
That dougheti Duglas, lyff-tenant of the

Marches,
he lay slean Chyviot within.

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,
And sent it to Sir Patrick Spence,

Was walking on the sand.
4. The first line that Sir Patrick red,

A loud lauch ? lauched he;
The next line that Sir Patrick red,

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

Harry,
"good Lord, yf thy will it be!
I have a hondrith captayns in Ynglonde,” he

sayd,
"as good as ever was he:
But, Persë, and I brook my lyffe,

thy deth well quyte shall be.”

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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,
And I feir, I feir, my deir master,

That we will cum to harme."

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65. This was the hontynge off the Cheviat,

that tear begane this spurn; ? Old men that knowen the grownde well ye

noughe

call it the battell of Otterburn. 270 66. At Otterburn begane this spurne

uppone a Monnynday;
Ther was the doughtë Doglas slean,

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.

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ere o above combs II. Haf owre, haf owre to Aberdour,

It's fiftie fadom deip,
And thair lies guid Sir Patrick Spence,

Wi the Scots lords at his feit.

10. “I will not geve over my hous,” she saithe,

“Not for feare of my lyffe;
It shalbe talked throughout the land,

The slaughter of a wyffe.

11. "Fetch me my pestilett,'

And charge me my gonne,
That I may shott at this bloddy butcher,

The lord of Easter-towne."

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CAPTAIN CAR, OR, EDOM O GORDON 1. It befell at Martynmas,

When wether waxed colde,
Captaine Care said to his men,
“We must go take a holde."
Syck, sike, and to-towe: sike,

And sike and like to die;
The sikest nighte that ever I abode,

God Lord have mercy on me! 2. “Haille, master, and wether you will,

And wether ye like it best."
To the castle of Crecrynbroghe,

And there we will take our reste."

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3. “I knowe wher is a gay castle,

Is builded of lyme and stone;
Within their is a gay ladie,

Her lord is riden and gone." 4. The ladie she lend on her castle-walle,

She loked upp and downe;
There was she ware of an host of men,

Come riding to the towne.

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5. “Se yow, my meri men all,

And se yow what I see?
Yonder I see an host of men,

I muse who they shold bee." 6. She thought he had ben her wed lord,

As he comd riding home;
Then was it traitur Captaine Care

The lord of Ester-towne.

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