"Yelde the, Perse," sayde the Doglas, "and i feth I shalle the brynge Wher thowe shalte have a yerls wagis of Jamy our Skottish kynge. "Thou shalte have thy ransom fre, I hight25 the hear this thinge; For the manfullyste man yet art thowe that ever I conqueryd in filde fighttynge.” "Nay," sayd the lord Persë, "I tolde it the beforne, That I wolde never yeldyde be to no man of a woman born." With that ther cam an arrowe hastely, forthe off a myghtte wane: 26 Hit hathe strekene the yerle Duglas in at the brest-bane. Thorowe lyvar and longes bathe the sharpe arrowe ys gane, That never after in all his lyffe-days he spayke mo wordes but ane: That was, "Fyghte ye, my myrry men, whyllys ye may, for my lyff-days ben gan." The Persë leanyde on his brande, and sawe the Duglas de; He tooke the dede mane by the hande, and sayd, "Wo ys me for the! "To have savyde thy lyffe, I wolde have partyde with my landes for years thre, For a better man, of hart nare of hande, was nat in all the north contre." Off all that se a Skottishe knyght, was callyd Ser Hewe the Monggombyrry; He sawe the Duglas to the deth was dyght, he spendyd27 a spear, a trusti tre. He rod uppone a corsiare throughe a hondrith archery: He set uppone the lorde Persë With a suar spear of a myghtte tre clean thorow the body he the Persë ber, A the tothar syde that a man myght se Towe bettar captayns wear nat in Cristiante An archar off Northomberlonde An arow, that a cloth-yarde was lang, he sat31 on Ser Hewe the Monggombyrry. The dynt yt was both sad and sar, Ther was never a freake wone foot wolde fle, but still in stour dyd stand, Heawyng on yche othar, whylle the myghte dre,32 with many a balfull brande. This battell begane in Chyviat The tocke . . . 33 on ethar hande be the lyght off the mone; Many hade no strenght for to stande, in Chyviat the hillys abon. Of fifteen hondrith archars of Ynglonde went away but seventi and thre; Of twenti hondrith spear-men of Skotlonde, but even five and fifti. But all wear slayne Cheviat within; The chylde may rue that ys unborne, Thear was slayne, withe the lord Persë, Ser Rogar, the hinde34 Hartly, Ser Wyllyam, the bolde Hearone. Ser Jorg, the worthe Loumle, a knyghte of great renowen, Ser Raff, the ryche Rugbe, with dyntes wear beaten dowene. For Wetharryngton my harte was wo, that ever he slayne should be; For when both his leggis wear hewyne in to, yet he knyled and fought on hys kny. Ther was slayne, with the dougheti Duglas, Ser Hewe the Monggombyrry, Ser Dany Lwdale, that worthe was, his sistars son was he. 33 break in the text. 34 courteous. Ser Charls a Murre in that place, that never a foot wolde fle; Ser Hewe Maxwelle, a lorde he was, with the Doglas dyd he dey. So on the morrowe the mayde them by ears off birch and hasell so grey; Many wedous, with wepying tears, 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. Word ys commen to Eddenburrowe, to Jamy the Skottische kynge, That dougheti Duglas, lyff-tenant of the Marches, he lay slean Chyviot within. His handdes dyd he weal and wryng, Worde ys commyn to lovly Londone, "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 our noble kynge mayd his avowe, he dyde the battell of Hombyll-down; Wher syx and thritte Skottishe knyghtes This was the hontynge off the Cheviat, Old men that knowen the grownde well yenoughe At Otterburn begane this spurne uppone a Monnynday; Ther was the doughte Doglas slean, the Perse never went away. Ther was never a tym on the Marche-partes But yt ys mervele and the rede blude ronne not, 38 39 Ihesue Crist our balys bete," and to the blys us brynge! Thus was the hountynge of the Chivyat: God sent us alle good endyng! 36 e'er. THE DEMON LOVER "O WHERE have you been, my long, long love, This long seven years and mair?” "O I'm come to seek my former vows Ye granted me before." |