25

Fulfyld with malice of froward entente,

Confeterd togeder of commoun concente Falsly to flo ther mofte fingular goode lorde? It may be registerde of shamefull recorde.

So noble a man, fo valiaunt torde and knight,

Fulfilled with honor, as all the worlde dothe ken; 30 At his commandement, whiche had both day and night

Knyghtis and fquyers, at every feafon when

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

1 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 discuft. 40 What fuld I fatter? what fhulde I glose or faynt ? Fy, fy for shame, their harts wer to faint.

In Englande and Fraunce, which gretly was redouted ;

()fwhom both Flaunders and Scotland ftode in drede; To whome grete aftates obeyde and lowttede ; 45

Amayny of rude villayns made him for to blede:

Unkindlý they slew hym, that help them oft at nede: He was their bulwark, their paves, and their wall, Yet thamfully they flew hym; that fhame mot them be

fal.

I fay,

I say, ye comoners, why wer ye so stark mad ?

50 What frantyk frenfy fyll in youre brayne ? Where was your wit and reson, ye shuld have had ?

What willfull foly made yow to ryfe agayne

Your naturall lord ? alas ! I can not fayne.
Ye armed you with will, and left your wit behynd; 55
Well may you be called comones most unkynd.
He was your chyfteyne, your shelde, your chef defence,

Redy to aflyst you in every tyme of nede :
Your worship depended of his excellence:

· Alas! ye mad men, to far ye did excede: 6@ .

Your hap was unhappy, to ill was your spede:
What movyd you agayn hym to war or to fight?
What aylde you to sie your

lord
agyn

all right?
The grounde of his quarel was for his sovereyn lord,
The welle
concernyng

of all the hole lande, 65 Demaundyng foche dutyes as nedis most acord [stand;

To the right of his prii ce which shold not be with

For whos cause 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,

70 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 spere and ther shelde,

This noble man doutles had not be slayne.

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 said nay: 80 They bust them on abushment themself in baile to

bringe : Agayne the kings plesure to wrastle or to wringe, Bluntly as beftis withe bofte and with cry They saide, they forsede not, nor carede not to dy. The noblenes of the northe this valiant lorde and knyght,

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

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, quyers, one and alle,

Togeder with servaunts of his famuly, Turnd their backis, and let ther master fall, Of whos [life] they counted not a Aye ;

95 Take up whos wolde for them, they let hym ly. Alas! his golde, his fee, his annuall rente Upon suche a fort was ille bestowde and spent. He was envyronde aboute on every fyde

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 shed his bloode!

All

105

IIO

All left alone, alas ! he fawte in vayne ;
For cruelly amonge them ther he was flayne.
Alas for pite! that Percy thus was spylt,

The famous erle of Northumberlande :
Of knightly prowès the sworde pomel and hylt,

The myghty lyoun doutted by se and lande !

o dolorous chaunce of fortuns fruward hande!
What man remembring how shamfully he was flayne,
From bitter weepinge hymself kan restrayne ?
O cruell Mars, thou dedly god of war!

O dolorous teufday, dedicate to thy náme,
When thou shoke thy sworde so noble a man to mar! 115

Ogrounde ungracious, unhappy be thy fame,

Whiche wert endyed with rede blode of the same!
Mofte noble erle! O fowle mysuryd grounde
Whereon he gat his fynal dedely wounde!
O Atropos, of the fatall systers thre,

Goddes mooste 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 rang
That with thy sworde enharpid of mortall drede, 125
Thou kit asonder his perfight vitall threde!
My wordis unpullysht 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. 130
Which whils he lyvyd had fuyfon of every thing,

I 20

1

Of knights, of squyers, 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, discrete, circumspect, and wyse, 139
Tyll the chaunce ran agyne him of fortunes duble dyse.
What nedethe me for to extoll his fame

With my rude pen enkankerd all with ruft ?
Whos noble actis shew worsheply his name,

Transcendyng far myne homely muse, that muft

Yet sumwhat wright fupprifid with hartly luit, 145
Truly reportinge his right noble aftate,
Immortally whiche is immaculate.
His noble blode never disteynyd was,

Trew to his prince for to defende his right,
Doublenes hatinge, fals maters to compas, 150

Treytory and treson he bannelht out of syght,

With trowth to medle was all his hole delyght,
As all his kuntrey kan teftefy the same :
To slo suche a lord, alas,

Thame.

it was grete

155

If the hole quere of the musis nyne

In me all onely wer sett and comprisyde,
Enbrethed with the blast of influence dyvyne,

As perfightly as could be thought or devysyd;
To me also allthouche it were promylyde

Of