The wear twenty hondrith spear-men good,
Withouten any fayle;

The wear borne a-long be the watter a Twyde,
Yth, bowndes of Tividale.

"Leave off the brytlyng of the dear," he sayde,
"And to your bowys tayk good heed;

For never sithe ye wear on your mothars borne
Had ye never so mickle need."

The dougheti Dogglas on a stede
He rode att his men beforne;
His armor glytteryde as dyd a glede;
A bolder barne was never born.

“Tell me 'what' men ye ar,” he says,
"Or whos men that ye be:

Who gave youe leave to hunte in this

Chyviat chays in the spyt of me?"

The first mane that ever him an answear mayd,

Yt was the good Lord Persè :

"We wyll not tell the 'what' men we ar," he says,

65

"Nor whos men that we be;

But we wyll hount hear in this chays,
In the spyte of thyne and of the.

"The fattiste hartes in all Chyviat

We have kyld, and cast to carry them a-way."

70

"Be my troth," sayd the doughtè Dogglas agayn, "Ther-for the ton of us shall de this day."

Then sayd the doughtè Doglas

Unto the Lord Persè :

"To kyll all thes giltles men, A-las! it wear great pittè.

75

"But, Persè, thowe art a lord of lande,

I am a yerle callyd within my contrè;
Let all our men uppone a parti stande,
And do the battell off the and of me."

V. 48, withowte. . . feale. P.C.
V. 54, ned. P.C.

V. 52, boys look ye tayk. P.C.
V. 65, whoys P.C.

V. 59, whos. P.C.

V. 71, agay. P.C.

80

"Nethar in Ynglonde, Skottlonde, nar France,

"Nowe Cristes cors on his crowne," sayd the Lord Persè,

"Who-soever ther-to says nay;

Be my troth, doughtè Doglas,” he says, "Thow shalt never se that day;

Nor for no man of a woman born,

But, and fortune be my chance,

I dar met him, on man for on."

85

Then bespayke a squyar off Northombarlonde,

Ric. Wytharynton was his nam;

90

"It shall never be told in Sothe-Ynglonde," he says,

"To Kyng Herry the Fourth for sham.

"I wat youe byn great lordes twa,

I am a poor squyar of lande;

I wyll never se my captayne fyght on a fylde,

95

And stande my-selffe, and looke on,

But whyll I may my weppone welde,

I wyll not 'fayl' both harte and hande.”

That day, that day, that dredfull day:

The first FIT 8 here I fynde.

100

And you wyll here any mor a' the hountyng a' the

Chyviat,

Yet ys ther mor behynde.

THE SECOND.FIT.

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.

V. 81, sayd the the. P. C. V. 88, on, i.e. one.
V. 93, twaw. P.C. V. 101, youe hountyng. P.C.

...

V. 3, first, i.e. flight.

7 This is probably corrupted in the MS. for Rog. Widdrington, who was at the head of the family in the reign of K. Edw. III.

There were several

successively of the names of Roger and Ralph, but none of the name of Richard, as appears from the genealogies in the Herald's office.

FIT.-Vide Gloss.

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 trẻ,
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.

5

10

15

The Yngglishe men let thear bowys be,

And pulde owt brandes that wer bright; It was a hevy syght to se

20

25

30

Bryght swordes on basnites lyght.

Thorowe ryche male and myne-ye-ple,
Many sterne the stroke downe streght;
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 were of fyn myllàn.

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.

"Holde the, Persè," sayd the Doglas,
“And i' feth I shall the brynge

Wher thowe shalte have a yerls wagis
Of Jamy our Scottish kynge.

V. 5, byddys. P.C.
V. 21, throrowe. P.C.
Ibid. and of, P.C.

V. 17, boys. P.C.
V. 22, done. P.C.
V. 32, ran. P.C.

V. 18, briggt. P.C. V. 26, to, i.e. two. V. 33, helde, P.C.

"Thoue shalte have thy ransom fre,

I hight the hear this thinge,

For the manfullyste man yet art thowe,

66

That ever I conqueryd in filde fightyng."

40

Nay 'then,'" sayd the Lord Persè,

“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 mightie wane;

9

Hit hathe strekene the Yerle Duglas
In at the brest bane.

Thoroue lyvar and longs bathe

The sharp arrowe ys gane,

That never after in all his lyffe-days

He spayke mo wordes but ane:

45

50

That was,1 "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

55

My landes for years thre,

60

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

65

He rod uppon a corsiare

Throughe a hondrith archery;

He never styntyde, nar never blane,

Tyll he came to the good Lord Persè.

V. 49, throroue. P.C.

70

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

This seems to have been a gloss added.

He set uppone the Lord Perse
A dynte that was full soare;
With a suar spear of a myghtè tre

Clean thorow the body he the Persè bore,
A' the 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.

An archar off 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,

85

He sat on Sir Hewe the Mongon-byrry.

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

The swane-fethars, that his arrowe bar,
With his hart-blood the wear wete.2

90

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.

2 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.