Читать книгу The Ancient English Poetry - Various Authors - Страница 23

The Yngglishe men hade ther bowys yebent,

Ther hartes were good yenoughe;

The first of arros that the shote off,144 Seven skore spear-men the sloughe.145

Yet bydys146 the yerle Doglas uppon the bent,1475 A captayne good yenoughe, And that was sene verament, For he wrought hom both woo and wouche.148

The Dogglas pertyd his ost in thre,

Lyk a cheffe cheften off pryde,10

With suar149 speares off myghttè tre The cum150 in on every syde.

Thrughe our Yngglishe archery

Gave many a wounde full wyde;

Many a doughete the garde to dy,15115 Which ganyde them no pryde.

The Yngglishe men let thear bowys be,152 And pulde owt brandes that wer bright;153 It was a hevy syght to se Bryght swordes on basnites154 lyght.20

Thorowe ryche male, and myne-ye-ple155156 Many sterne157 the stroke downe streght:158 Many a freyke,159 that was full free, Ther undar foot dyd lyght.

At last the Duglas and the Persè met,25

Lyk to captayns of myght and mayne;160 The swapte161 togethar tyll the both swat162 With swordes, that wear of fyn myllàn.163

Thes worthè freckys164 for to fyght Ther-to the wear full fayne,30 Tyll the bloode owte off thear basnetes sprente,165 As ever dyd heal or rayne.166

Holde the, Persè, sayd the Doglas,167 And i' feth I shall the brynge Wher thowe shalte have a yerls wagis35 Of Jamy our Scottish kynge.

Thoue shalte have thy ransom fre,

I hight168 the hear this thinge, For the manfullyste man yet art thowe, 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 hastely45

Forthe off a mightie wane,169 Hit hathe strekene the yerle Duglas In at the brest bane.

Thoroue lyvar and longs bathe170 The sharp arrowe ys gane,50 That never after in all his lyffe days, He spayke mo wordes but ane, That was,171 Fyghte ye, my merry men, whyllys ye may, For my lyff days ben gan.

The Persè leanyde on his brande,55

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,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 dyght172;65 He spendyd173 a spear a trusti tre:

He rod uppon a corsiare174 Throughe a hondrith archery; He never styntyde, nar never blane,175 Tyll he came to the good lord Persè.70

He set uppone the lord Persè

A dynte,176 that was full soare; With a suar spear of a myghtè tre Clean thorow the body he the Persè bore,177

Athe tothar syde, that a man myght se,75

A large cloth yard and mare:

Towe bettar captayns wear nat in Christiantè,

Then that day slain wear ther.

An archar off Northomberlonde

Say slean was the lord Persè,17880 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;179 A dynt, that was both sad and soar,85 He sat on Sir Hewe the Mongon-byrry.

The dynt yt was both sad and sar,180181 That he of Mongon-byrry sete; The swane-fethars, that his arrowe bar, With his hart blood the wear wete.18290

Ther was never a freake wone foot wolde fle,

But still in stour183 dyd stand, Heawyng on yche othar,184 whyll the myght dre,185 With many a bal-ful brande.

This battell begane in Chyviat95

An owar befor the none,

And when even-song bell was rang

The battell was nat half done.

The tooke 'on' on ethar hand

Be the lyght off the mone;100

Many hade no strenght for to stande,

In Chyviat the hyllys aboun.186187

Of fifteen hondrith archars of Ynglonde

Went away but fifti and thre;

Of twenty hondrith spear-men of Skotlonde,105

But even five and fifti:

But all wear slayne Cheviat within:

The hade no strengthe to stand on hie;188 The chylde may rue that ys un-borne, It was the mor pittè.110

Thear was slayne with the lord Persè

Sir John of Agerstone,

Sir Roger the hinde189 Hartly, Sir Wyllyam the bolde Hearone.

Sir Jorg the worthè Lovele190191115 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;120

For when both his leggis wear hewyne in to,192 Yet he knyled and fought on hys kne.193

Ther was slayne with the dougheti Douglas

Sir Hewe the Mongon-byrry,

Sir Davye Lwdale, that worthè was,125

His sistars son was he:

Sir Charles a Murrè, in that place,

That never a foot wolde fle;

Sir Hewe Maxwell, a lorde he was,

With the Duglas dyd he dey.130

So on the morrowe the mayde them byears

Off byrch, and hasell so 'gray;'194 Many wedous195 with wepyng tears,196 Cam to fach ther makys197 a-way.

Tivydale may carpe198 off care,135 Northombarlond may mayk grat mone,199 For towe such captayns, as slayne wear thear, On the march perti200 shall never be none.201

Word ys commen to Edden-burrowe,

To Jamy the Skottishe kyng,140

That dougheti Duglas, lyff-tenant of the Merches,

He lay slean Chyviot with-in.

His handdes dyd he weal202 and wryng, He sayd, Alas, and woe ys me! Such another captayn Skotland within,145 He sayd, y-feth shuld never be.203

Worde ys commyn to lovly Londone

Till204 the fourth Harry our kyng,205 That lord Persè, leyff-tennante of the Merchis,206 He lay slayne Chyviat within.150

God have merci on his soll, sayd kyng Harry,

Good lord, yf thy will it be!

I have a hondrith captayns in Yynglonde, he sayd,

As good as ever was hee:

But Persè, and I brook207 my lyffe,155 Thy deth well quyte208 shall be.

As our noble kyng made his a-vowe,

Lyke a noble prince of renowen,

For the deth of the lord Persè,

He dyd the battel of Hombyll-down:160

Wher syx and thritte Skottish knyghtes

On a day wear beaten down:

Glendale glytteryde on ther armor bryght,

Over castill, towar, and town.

This was the hontynge off the Cheviat;165

That tear begane this spurn:209 Old men that knowen the grownde well yenoughe, Call it the Battell of Otterburn.

At Otterburn began this spurne

Uppon a monnyn day:210170 Ther was the dougghté Doglas slean, The Persè never went away.

Ther was never a tym on the march partes

Sen the Doglas and the Persè met,

But yt was marvele, and the redde blude ronne not,

As the reane doys in the stret.176

Jhesue Christ our balys bete,211 And to the blys us brynge! Thus was the hountynge of the Chevyat: God send us all good ending!180

⁂ The style of this and the following ballad is uncommonly rugged and uncouth, owing to their being writ in the very coarsest and broadest northern dialect.

The battle of Hombyll-down, or Humbledon, was fought Sept. 14, 1402 (anno 3 Hen. IV.), wherein the English, under the command of the Earl of Northumberland and his son Hotspur, gained a complete victory over the Scots. The village of Humbledon is one mile northwest from Wooler, in Northumberland. The battle was fought in the field below the village, near the present Turnpike Road, in a spot called ever since Red-Riggs. Humbledon is in Glendale Ward, a district so named in this county, and mentioned above in ver. 163.