The English and Scottish Popular Ballads/Part 6/Chapter 161

fell abowght the Lamasse tyde, Whan husbondes wynnes ther haye, The dowghtye Dowglasse bowynd hym to ryde, In Ynglond to take a praye. The yerlle of Fyffe, wythowghten stryffe, He bowynd hym over Sulway; The grete wolde ever to-gether ryde; That raysse they may rewe for aye. Over Hoppertope hyll they cam in, And so down by Rodclyffe crage: Vpon Grene Lynton they lyghted dowyn, Styrande many a stage. And boldely brente Northomberlond, And haryed many a towyn; They dyd owr Ynglyssh men grete wrange, To batell that were not bowyn. Than spake a berne vpon the bent, Of comforte that was not colde, And sayd, We haue brente Northomberlond, We haue all welth in holde. Now we haue haryed all Bamborowe schyre, All the welth in the worlde haue wee, I rede we ryde to Newe Castell, So styll and stalworthlye. Vpon the morowe, when it was day, The standerds schone full bryght; To the Newe Castell the toke the waye, And thether they cam full ryght. Syr Henry Perssy laye at the New Castell, I tell yow wythowtten drede; He had byn a march-man all hys dayes, And kepte Barwyke vpon Twede. To the Newe Castell when they cam, The Skottes they cryde on hyght, 'Syr Hary Perssy, and thou byste within, Com to the fylde, and fyght. 'For we haue brente Northomberlonde, Thy erytage good and ryght, And syne my logeyng I haue take Wyth my brande dubbyd many a knyght.' Syr Harry Perssy cam to the walles, The Skottyssch oste for to se, And sayd, And thou hast brente Northomberlond, Full sore it rewyth me. Yf thou hast haryed all Bamborowe schyre, Thow hast done me grete envye; For the trespasse thow hast me done, The tone of vs schall dye. 'Where schall I byde the?' sayd the Dowglas, 'Or where wylte thow com to me?' 'At Otterborne, in the hygh way, [T]her mast thow well logeed be. '[T]he roo full rekeles ther sche rinnes, [T]o make the game a[nd] glee; 'T]he fawken and the fesaunt both, Among the holtes on hye. 'Ther mast thow haue thy welth at wyll, Well looged ther mast be; Yt schall not be long or I com the tyll,' Sayd Syr Harry Perssye. 'Ther schall I byde the,' sayd the Dowglas, 'By the fayth of my bodye:' 'Thether schall I com,' sayd Syr Harry Perssy, 'My trowth I plyght to the.' A pype of wyne he gaue them over the walles, For soth as I yow saye; Ther he mayd the Dowglasse drynke, And all hys ost that daye. The Dowglas turnyd hym homewarde agayne, For soth withowghten naye; He toke hys logeyng at Oterborne, Vpon a Wedynsday. And ther he pyght hys standerd dowyn, Hys getting more and lesse, And syne he warned hys men to goo To chose ther geldynges gresse. A Skottysshe knyght hoved vpon the bent, A wache I dare well saye; So was he ware on the noble Perssy, In the dawnyng of the daye. He prycked to hys pavyleon-dore, As faste as he myght ronne; 'Awaken, Dowglas,' cryed the knyght, 'For hys love that syttes in trone. 'Awaken, Dowglas,' cryed the knyght, 'For thow maste waken wyth wynne; Yender haue I spyed the prowde Perssye, And seven stondardes wyth hym.' 'Nay by my trowth,' the Dowglas sayed, 'It ys but a fayned taylle; He durst not loke on my brede banner For all Ynglonde so haylle. 'Was I not yesterdaye at the Newe Castell, That stondes so fayre on Tyne? For all the men the Perssy had, He coude not garre me ones to dyne.' He stepped owt at his pavelyon-dore, To loke and it were lesse: 'Araye yow, lordynges, one and all, For here bygynnes no peysse. 'The yerle of Mentaye, thow arte my eme, The fowarde I gyve to the: The yerlle of Huntlay, cawte and kene, He schall be wyth the. 'The lorde of Bowghan, in armure bryght, On the other hand he schall be; Lord Jhonstoune and Lorde Maxwell, They to schall be wyth me. 'Swynton, fayre fylde vpon your pryde! To batell make yow bowen Syr Davy Skotte, Syr Water Stewarde, Syr Jhon of Agurstone!' The Perssy cam byfore hys oste, Wych was ever a gentyll knyght; Vpon the Dowglas lowde can he crye, 'I wyll holde that I haue hyght. 'For thou haste brente Northomberlonde, And done me grete envye; For thys trespasse thou hast me done, The tone of vs schall dye.' The Dowglas answerde hym agayne, Wyth grett wurdes vpon hye, And sayd, I haue twenty agaynst thy one, Byholde, and thou maste see. Wyth that the Perssy was grevyd sore, For soth as I yow saye; He lyghted dowyn vpon his foote, And schoote hys horsse clene awaye. Euery man sawe that he dyd soo, That ryall was euer in rowght; Euery man schoote hys horsse hym froo, And lyght hym rowynde abowght. Thus Syr Hary Perssye toke the fylde, For soth as I yow saye; Jhesu Cryste in hevyn on hyght Dyd helpe hym well that daye. But nyne thowzand, ther was no moo, The cronykle wyll not layne; Forty thowsande of Skottes and fowre That day fowght them agayne. But when the batell byganne to ioyne, In hast ther cam a knyght; The letters fayre furth hath he tayne, And thus he sayd full ryght: 'My lorde your father he gretes yow well, Wyth many a noble knyght; He desyres yow to byde That he may see thys fyght. 'The Baron of Grastoke ys com out of the west, Wyth hym a noble companye; All they loge at your fathers thys nyght, And the batell fayne wolde they see.' 'For Jhesus love,' sayd Syr Harye Perssy, 'That dyed for yow and me, Wende to my lorde my father agayne, And saye thow sawe me not wyth yee. 'My trowth ys plyght to yonne Skottysh knyght, It nedes me not to layne, That I schulde byde hym vpon thys bent, And I haue hys trowth agayne. 'And if that I w[e]ynde of thys growende, For soth, onfowghten awaye, He wolde me call but a kowarde knyght In hys londe another daye. 'Yet had I lever to be rynde and rente, By Mary, that mykkel maye, Then ever my manhood schulde be reprovyd Wyth a Skotte another day. 'Wherfore schote, archars, for my sake, And let scharpe arowes flee; Mynstrells, playe vp for your waryson, And well quyt it schall bee. 'Euery man thynke on hys trewe-love, And marke hym to the Trenite; For to God I make myne avowe Thys day wyll I not flee.' The blodye harte in the Dowglas armes, Hys standerde stode on hye, That euery man myght full well knowe; By syde stode starr s thre. The whyte lyon on the Ynglyssh perte, For soth as I yow sayne, The lucettes and the cressawntes both; The Skottes favght them agayne. Vpon Sent Androwe lowde can they crye, And thrysse they schowte on hyght, And syne merked them one owr Ynglysshe men, As I haue tolde yow ryght. Sent George the bryght, owr ladyes knyght, To name they were full fayne; Owr Ynglyssh men they cryde on hyght, And thrysse the schowtte agayne. Wyth that scharpe arowes bygan to flee, I tell yow in sertayne; Men of armes byganne to joyne, Many a dowghty man was ther slayne. The Perssy and the Dowglas mette, That ether of other was fayne; They swapped together whyll that the swette, Wyth swordes of fyne collayne: Tyll the bloode from ther bassonnettes ranne, As the roke doth in the rayne; 'Yelde the to me,' sayd the Dowglas, 'Or elles thow schalt be slayne. 'For I see by thy bryght bassonet, Thow arte sum man of myght; And so I do by thy burnysshed brande; Thow arte an yerle, or elles a knyght.' 'By my good faythe,' sayd the noble Perssye, 'Now haste thow rede full ryght; Yet wyll I never yelde me to the, Whyll I may stonde and fyght.' They swapped together whyll that they swette, Wyth sword s scharpe and long; Ych on other so faste thee beette, Tyll ther helmes cam in peyses dowyn. The Perssy was a man of strenghth, I tell yow in thys stounde; He smote the Dowglas at the sword s length That he felle to the growynde. The sworde was scharpe, and sore can byte, I tell yow in sertayne; To the harte he cowde hym smyte, Thus was the Dowglas slayne. The stonderdes stode styll on eke a syde, Wyth many a grevous grone; Ther the fowght the day, and all the nyght, And many a dowghty man was slayne. Ther was no freke that ther wolde flye, But styffely in stowre can stond, Ychone hewyng on other whyll they myght drye, Wyth many a bayllefull bronde. Ther was slayne vpon the Skott s syde, For soth and sertenly, Syr James a Dowglas ther was slayne, That day that he cowde dye. The yerlle of Mentaye he was slayne, Grysely groned vpon the growynd; Syr Davy Skotte, Syr Water Stewarde, Syr Jhon of Agurstoune. Syr Charll s Morrey in that place, That never a fote wold flee; Syr Hewe Maxwell, a lorde he was, Wyth the Dowglas dyd he dye. Ther was slayne vpon the Skott s syde, For soth as I yow saye, Of fowre and forty thowsande Scottes Went but eyghtene awaye. Ther was slayne vpon the Ynglysshe syde, For soth and sertenlye, A gentell knight, Syr Jhon Fechewe, Yt was the more pety. Syr James Hardbotell ther was slayne, For hym ther hartes were sore; The gentyll Lovell ther was slayne, That the Perssys standerd bore. Ther was slayne vpon the Ynglyssh perte, For soth as I yow saye, Of nyne thowsand Ynglyssh men Fyve hondert cam awaye. The other were slayne in the fylde; Cryste kepe ther sowlles from wo! Seyng ther was so fewe fryndes Agaynst so many a foo. Then on the morne they mayde them beerys Of byrch and haysell graye; Many a wydowe, wyth wepyng teyres, Ther makes they fette awaye. Thys fraye bygan at Otterborne, Bytwene the nyght and the day; Ther the Dowglas lost hys lyffe, And the Perssy was lede awaye. Then was ther a Scottysh prisoner tayne, Syr Hewe Mongomery was hys name; For soth as I yow saye, He borowed the Perssy home agayne. Now let vs all for the Perssy praye To Jhesu most of myght, To bryng hys sowlle to the blysse of heven, For he was a gentyll knyght.

fell and about the Lammas time, When husbandmen do win their hay, Earl Douglass is to the English woods, And a' with him to fetch a prey. He has chosen the Lindsays light, With them the gallant Gordons gay, And the Earl of Fyfe, withouten strife, And Sir Hugh Montgomery upon a grey. They have taken Northumberland, And sae hae they the north shire, And the Otter Dale, they hae burnt it hale, And set it a' into fire. Out then spake a bonny boy, That servd ane o Earl Douglass kin; Methinks I see an English host, A-coming branken us upon. 'If this be true, my little boy, And it be troth that thou tells me, The brawest bower in Otterburn This day shall be thy morning-fee. 'But if it be fase, my little boy, But and a lie that thou tells me, On the highest tree that's in Otterburn With my ain hands I'll hing thee high.' The boy's taen out his little penknife, That hanget low down by his gare, And he gaed Earl Douglass a deadly wound, Alack! a deep wound and a sare. Earl Douglas said to Sir Hugh Montgomery, Take thou the vanguard o the three, And bury me at yon braken-bush, That stands upon yon lilly lee. Then Percy and Montgomery met, And weel a wot they warna fain; They swaped swords, and they twa swat, And ay the blood ran down between. 'O yield thee, yield thee, Percy,' he said, 'Or else I vow I'll lay thee low;' 'Whom to shall I yield,' said Earl Percy, 'Now I see it maun be so?' 'O yield thee to yon braken-bush, That grows upon yon lilly lee; . . . . . . . . 'I winna yield to a braken-bush, Nor yet will I unto a brier; But I would yield to Earl Douglass, Or Sir Hugh Montgomery, if he was here.' As soon as he knew it was Montgomery, He stuck his sword's point in the ground, And Sir Hugh Montgomery was a courteous knight, And he quickly broght him by the hand. This deed was done at Otterburn, About the breaking of the day; Earl Douglass was buried at the braken-bush, And Percy led captive away.

fell about the Lammas tide, When the muir-men win their hay, The doughty Douglas bound him to ride Into England, to drive a prey. He chose the Gordons and the Gra+emes, With them the Lindesays, light and gay; But the Jardines wald not with him ride, And they rue it to this day. And he has burnd the dales of Tyne, And part of Bambrough shire, And three good towers on Reidswire fells, He left them all on fire. And he marchd up to Newcastle, And rode it round about: 'O wha's the lord of this castle? Or wha's the lady o't?' But up spake proud Lord Percy then, And O but he spake hie! I am the lord of this castle, My wife's the lady gay. 'If thou'rt the lord of this castle, Sae weel it pleases me, For, ere I cross the Border fells, The tane of us shall die.' He took a lang spear in his hand, Shod with the metal free, And for to meet the Douglas there He rode right furiouslie. But O how pale his lady lookd, Frae aff the castle-wa, When down before the Scottish spear She saw proud Percy fa. 'Had we twa been upon the green, And never an eye to see, I wad hae had you, flesh and fell; But your sword sall gae wi me.' 'But gae ye up to Otterbourne, And, wait there dayis three, And, if I come not ere three dayis end, A fause knight ca ye me.' 'The Otterbourne's a bonnie burn; 'Tis pleasant there to be; But there is nought at Otterbourne To feed my men and me. 'The deer rins wild on hill and dale, The birds fly wild from tree to tree; But there is neither bread nor kale To fend my men and me. 'Yet I will stay at Otterbourne, Where you shall welcome be; And, if ye come not at three dayis end, A fause lord I'll ca thee.' 'Thither will I come,' proud Percy said, 'By the might of Our Ladye;' 'There will I bide thee,' said the Douglas, 'My troth I plight to thee.' They lighted high on Otterbourne, Upon the bent sae brown; They lighted high on Otterbourne, And threw their pallions down. And he that had a bonnie boy, Sent out his horse to grass; And he that had not a bonnie boy, His ain servant he was. But up then spake a little page, Before the peep of dawn: 'O waken ye, waken ye, my good lord, For Percy's hard at hand.' 'Ye lie, ye lie, ye liar loud! Sae loud I hear ye lie: For Percy had not men yestreen To dight my men and me. 'But I have dreamd a dreary dream, Beyond the Isle of Sky; I saw a dead man win a fight, And I think that man was I.' He belted on his guid braid sword, And to the field he ran, But he forgot the helmet good, That should have kept his brain. When Percy with the Douglas met, I wat he was fu fain; They swakked their swords, till sair they swat, And the blood ran down like rain. But Percy with his good broad sword, That could so sharply wound, Has wounded Douglas on the brow, Till he fell to the ground. Then he calld on his little foot-page, And said, Run speedilie, And fetch my ain dear sister's son, Sir Hugh Montgomery. 'My nephew good,' the Douglas said, 'What recks the death of ane! Last night I dreamd a dreary dream, And I ken the day's thy ain. 'My wound is deep; I fain would sleep; Take thou the vanguard of the three, And hide me by the braken-bush, That grows on yonder lilye lee. 'O bury me by the braken-bush, Beneath the blooming brier; Let never living mortal ken That ere a kindly Scot lies here.' He lifted up that noble lord, Wi the saut tear in his ee; He hid him in the braken-bush, That his merrie men might not see. The moon was clear, the day drew near, The spears in flinders flew, But mony a gallant Englishman Ere day the Scotsmen slew. The Gordons good, in English blood They steepd their hose and shoon; The Lindsays flew like fire about, Till all the fray was done. The Percy and Montgomery met, That either of other were fain; They swapped swords, and they twa swat, And aye the blood ran down between. 'Now yield thee, yield thee, Percy,' he said, 'Or else I vow I'll lay thee low!' 'To whom must I yield,' quoth Earl Percy, 'Now that I see that it must be so?' 'Thou shalt not yield to lord nor loun, Nor yet shalt thou yield to me; But yield thee to the braken-bush, That grows upon yon lilye lee.' 'I will not yield to a braken-bush, Nor yet will I yield to a brier; But I would yield to Earl Douglas, Or Sir Hugh the Montgomery, if he were here.' As soon as he knew it was Montgomery, He struck his sword's point in the gronde; The Montgomery was a courteous knight, And quickly took him by the honde. This deed was done at the Otterbourne, About the breaking of the day; Earl Douglas was buried at the braken-bush, And the Percy led captive away.

out an spak a little wee boy, And he was near o Percy's kin: Methinks I see the English host A coming branking us upon. Wi nine waggons scaling wide, And seven banners bearing high; It was do any living gude To see their bonny colours fly.

'O thee to yon braken-bush, That grows upon yon lilly lie; For there lies aneth yon braken-bush What aft has conquered mae than thee.'