Fulfyld with malice of froward entente, Confeterd togeder of commoun concente Falfly to flo ther mofte fingular goode lorde ? It may be registerde of fhamefull recorde.

25

So noble a man, fo valiaunt lorde and knight, Fulfilled with honor, as all the worlde dothe ken; 30 At his commaundement, whiche had both day and night Knyghtis and fquyers, at every feafon when

He calde upon them, as menyall houshold men : Were no thes commones uncurteis karlis of kynde To flo their owne lorde? God was not in their minde. 35

And were not they to blame, I say also,

That were aboute hym, his owne fervants of trust,

To fuffre hym flayn of his mortall for

Fled away from hym, let hym ly in the duft: They bode not till the rekening were discust. What fhuld I flatter? what fhulde I glose or paynt ? Fy, fy for fhame, their harts wer to faint.

40

In Englande and Fraunce, which gretly was redouted; Of whom both Flaunders and Scotland ftode in drede ; To whome grete aftates obeyde and lowttede ;

45

Amayny of rude villayns made him for to blede: Unkindly they flew hym, that help them oft at nede: He was their bulwark, their paves, and their wall, Yet fhamfully they flew hym; that fhame mot them be

fal.

I fay,

I fay, ye comoners, why wer ye fo stark mad?
What frantyk frenfy fyll in youre brayne?
Where was your wit and refon, ye fhuld have had ?
What willfull foly made yow to ryse agayne

Your natural lord? alas! I can not fayne.

50

Ye armed you with will, and left your wit behynd; 55 Well may you be called comones most unkynd.

60

He was your chyfteyne, your fhelde, your chef defence,
Redy to affyft you in every tyme of nede:
Your worship depended of his excellence :
Alas! ye mad men, to far ye did excede :
: Your hap was unhappy, to ill was your fpede:
What movyd you agayn hym to war or to fight?
What aylde you to fle your lord agyn all right?

65

The grounde of his quarel was for his fovereyn lord, The welle concernyng of all the hole lande, Demaundyng foche dutyes as nedis most acord [ftand; To the right of his prin ce which fhold not be withFor whos caufe ye flew hym with your awne hande: But had his nobill men done wel that day,

Ye had not been hable to have faide him nay.

But ther was fals packinge, or els I am begylde:

How-be-it the mater was evident and playne, For yf they had occupied ther fpere and ther fhelde, This noble man doutles had not be slayne.

79

Bot men fay they wer lynked with a double chayn, 75 And held with the commouns under a cloke,

Whiche kindeled the wyld fyre that made all this smoke.

VOL. I

H.

The

The commouns renyed ther taxes to pay

Of them demaunded and asked by the kynge;

With one voice importune, they playnly faid nay: 80 They bufkt them on abushment themself in baile to bringe :

Agayne the kings plefure to wraftle or to wringe, Bluntly as beftis withe boste and with cry

They faide, they forfede not, nor carede not to dy.

The noblenes of the northe this valiant lorde and

knyght,

As man that was innocent of trechery or trayne, Prefed forthe boldly to witftand the myght,

85

And, lyke marciall Hector, he fauht them agayne, Vigorously upon them with myght and with mayne, Trustinge in noble men that wer with hym there: 90 Bot all they fled from hym for falshode or fere.

Barons, knights, fquyers, one and alle,
Togeder with fervaunts of his famuly,
Turnd their backis, and let ther master fall,
Of whos [life] they counted not a flye;

Take up whos wolde for them, they let hym ly.
Alas! his golde, his fee, his annuall rente

Upon fuche a fort was ille bestowde and spent.

He was envyronde aboute on every fyde

95

Withe his enemys, that were stark mad and wode; 100 Yet whils he ftode he gave them woundes wyde:

Alas for routhe! what thouche his mynde were goode,
His corage manly, yet ther he fhed his bloode!

All

All left alone, alas! he fawte in vayne;
For cruelly amonge them ther he was flayne.

105

Alas for pite! that Percy thus was fpylt,

The famous erle of Northumberlande:
Of knightly prowès the fworde pomel and hylt,
The myghty lyoun doutted by fe and lande!

110

O dolorous chaunce of fortuns fruward hande! What man remembring how fhamfully he was flayne, From bitter weepinge hymfelf kan reftrayne?

O cruell Mars, thou dedly god of war!

O dolorous teufday, dedicate to thy name,

When thou fhoke thy fworde so noble a man to mar! 115
O grounde ungracious, unhappy be thy fame,
Whiche wert endyed with rede blode of the fame!
Mofte noble erle! O fowle myfuryd grounde
Whereon he gat his fynal dedely wounde!

O Atropos, of the fatall systers thre,

Goddes moofte cruell unto the lyf of man,

All merciles, in the ys no pitè!

O homycide, whiche fleeft all that thou kan,

So forcibly upon this erle thow ran

120

That with thy fworde enharpid of mortall drede, 125 Thou kit afonder his perfight vitall threde!

My wordis unpullyfht be nakide and playne,

Of aureat poems they want ellumynynge;

Bot by them to knoulege ye may attayne

Of this lordis dethe and of his murdrynge.
Which whils he lyvyd had fuyfon of every thing,

130

Of knights, of fquyers, chef lord of toure and toune,
Tyl fykkill fortune began on hym to frowne.

Paregall to dukis, with kings he myght compare,
Sourmountinge in honor all erls he did excede, 135
To all cuntreis aboute hym reporte me I dare.
Lyke to Eneas benygne in worde and dede,
Valiaunt as Hector in every marciall nede,
Provydent, difcrete, circumfpect, and wyse,
Tyll the chaunce ran agyne him of fortunes duble dyfe.

What nedethe me for to extoll his fame

With my rude pen enkankerd all with ruft ?

139

Whos noble actis fhew worfheply his name, Tranfcendyng far myne homely mufe, that muft Yet fumwhat wright fupprifid with hartly luft, 145 Truly reportinge his right noble aftate,

Immortally whiche is immaculate.

His noble blode never difteynyd was,

Trew to his prince for to defende his right,
Doublenes hatinge, fals maters to compas,
Treytory and trefon he bannefht out of fyght,
With trowth to medle was all his hole delyght,

As all his kuntrey kan teftefy the same :
To flo fuche a lord, alas, it was grete fhame.

150

If the hole quere of the mufis nyne

355

In me all onely wer fett and comprifyde, Enbrethed with the blaft of influence dyvyne,

As perfightly as could be thought or devyfyd;
To me alfo allthouche it were promyfyde

of