Sidor som bilder

That day, that day, that dredfull day:


The first FIT? here I fynde.


And you wyll here any mor athe hountyng athe Chyviat, Yet ys ther mor behynde.


THE Yngglishe men hade ther bowys yebent,
Ther hartes were good yenoughe;

The first of arros that the shote off,
Seven skore spear-men the sloughe.

Yet bydys the yerle Doglas uppon the bent,
A captayne good yenoughe,


And that was sene verament,

For he wrought hom both woo and wouche.

The Dogglas pertyd his ost in thre,
Lyk a cheffe cheften off pryde,


With suar speares off myghttè tre
The cum in on every syde.

Thrughe our Yngglishe archery
Gave many a wounde full wyde;
Many a doughete the garde to dy,
Which ganyde them no pryde.

The Yngglyshe men let thear bowys be,
And pulde owt brandes that wer bright;
It was a hevy syght to se

Bryght swordes on basnites lyght.

Thorowe ryché male, and myne-ye-ple
Many sterne the stroke downe streight:

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7 FIT, vide Gloss.

Many a freyke, that was full free,
Ther undar foot dyd lyght.

At last the Duglas and the Persè met,

Lyk to captayns of myght and mayne; The swapte togethar tyll the both swat With swordes, that wear of fyn myllan.

Thes worthè freckys for to fyght
Ther-to the wear full fayne,



Tyll the bloode owte off thear basnetes sprente,
As ever dyd heal or rayne.

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8 Wane, i. e. ane. one, sc. man; an arrow came from a mighty one: from a mighty man.

Thoroue lyvar and longs bathe

The sharp arrowe ys gane,

That never after in all his lyffe days

He spayke mo wordes but ane,

That was 9, Fyghte ye, my merry men, whyllys ye may,

For my lyff days ben gan.

The Persè leanyde on his brande,




And sawe the Duglas de;

He tooke the dede man be the hande,

And sayd, Wo ys me for the!

To have savyde thy lyffe I wold have pertyd with

My landes for years thre,


For a better man of hart, nare of hande

Was not in all the north countrè.

Off all that se a Skottishe knyght,

Was callyd Sir Hewe the Mongon-byrry,

He sawe the Duglas to the deth was dyght;
He spendyd a spear a trusti tre:


He rod uppon a corsiare

Throughe a hondrith archery;

He never styntyde, nar never blane
Tyll he came to the good lord Persè.


He set uppone the lord Persè

A dynte, that was full soare;

With a suar spear of a myghtè tre

Clean thorow the body he the Persè bore,

Athe tothar syde, that a man myght se,
A large cloth yard and mare:

Towe bettar captayns wear nat in Cristiantè,
Then that day slain wear thare.

V. 49, throroue. P. C.

V. 74, ber. P. C.

V. 78, ther. P. C.

9 This seems to have been a gloss added.

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An archar of Northomberlonde
Say slean was the lord Persè,


He bar a bende-bow in his hande,

Was made off trusti tre:

An arow, that a cloth yarde was lang,
To th' hard stele halyde he;


A dynt, that was both sad and soar,

He sat on Sir Hewe the Mongon-byrry.

The dynt yt was both sad and 'soar,'
That he of Mongon-byrry sete;

The swane-fethars, that his arrowe bar,
With his hart blood the wear wete 10.


Ther was never a freake wone foot wolde fle,

But still in stour dyd stand,

Heawyng on yche othar, whyll the myght dre,

With many a bal ful brande.

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Of fifteen hondrith archers of Ynglonde
Went away but fifti and thre;

Of twenty hondrith spear-men of Skotlonde,
But even five and fifti:

V. 80, Say, i.e. sawe.

V. 84, haylde. P. C.

V. 87, sar. P. c.

V. 102, abou. P. C.


10 This incident is taken from the battle of Otterbourn; in which Sir Hugh Montgomery, Knt. (son of John Lord Montgomery) was slain with an arrow. Vide Crawfurd's Peerage.

But all wear slayne Cheviat within:

The hade no strengthe to stand on he: The chylde may rue that is un-borne,

It was the mor pittè.

Thear was slayne with the lord Persè

Sir John of Agerstone,

Sir Roger the hinde Hartly,

Sir Wyllyam the bolde Hearone.

Sir Jorg the worthè Lovele

A knyght of great renowen,

Sir Raff the ryche Rugbè



With dyntes wear beaten dowene.

For Wetharryngton my harte was wo,

That ever he slayne shulde be;


For when both his leggis wear hewyne in to,

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So on the morrowe the mayde them byears
Off byrch, and hasell so 'gray';

Many wedous with wepyng tears1,
Cam to fach ther makys a-way.

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1 A common pleonasm, see the next poem, Fit 2nd, v. 155. So Harding in his Chronicle, chap. 140, fol. 148, describing the death of Richard I., says,

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