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And syne he warned hys men to goo

To chose ther geldyngs gresse.

A Skottysshe knyght hoved upon the bent,

A wache I dare well saye:
So was he ware on the noble Percy

In the dawnynge of the daye.


He prycked to his pavyleon dore,

As faste as he myght ronne, Awaken, Dowglas, cryed the knyght,

For hys love, that syttes yn trone.


Awaken, Dowglas, cryed the knyght,

For thow maiste waken wyth wynne : Yender have I spyed the prowde Percy,

And seven standardes wyth hym.


Nay by my trowth, the Douglas sayed,

It ys but a fayned taylle:
He durste not loke on my bred banner,

For all Ynglonde so haylle.

Was I not yesterdaye at the Newe Castell,

That stonds so fayre on Tyne ? For all the men that Percy hade,

He cowde not garre me ones to dyne.


V. 77, upon the best bent. MS.

He stepped owt at hys pavelyon dore,

To loke and it were lesse ; Araye yow, lordyngs, 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 wyth the be.


The lorde of Bowghan † in armure bryght

On the other hand he schall be: Lorde Jhonstone, and lorde Maxwell,

They to schall be with me.


Swynton fayre fylde upon your pryde
To batell make


bowen : Syr Davy Scotte, Syr Walter Stewarde,

Syr Jhon of Agurstone.


THE Perssy came byfore hys oste,

Wych was ever a gentyll knyght, Upon the Dowglas lowde can he crye,

I wyll holde that I have hyght:

* The Earl of Menteith.

+ The Lord Buchan.


For thow haste brente Northumberlonde,

And done me grete envye;
For thys trespasse thou hast me done,

The tone of us schall dye.


The Dowglas answerde hym agayne

With grete wurds up on hee,'
And sayd, I have twenty agaynst 'thy’one,

Byholde and thow maiste see.


Wyth that the Percye wasgrevyd sore,

For sothe as I yow saye:
+ [He lyghted dowyn upon his fote,

And schoote his horsse clene away.


Every man sawe that he dyd soo,

That ryall was ever in rowght;
Every man schoote hys horsse him froo,

And lyght hym rowynde abowght.


Thus Syr Hary Percye toke the fylde,

For soth, as I yow saye:
Jesu Cryste in hevyn on hyght

Dyd helpe hym well that daye.

V. 1, 13, Pearcy, al. MS. V. 4, I will hold to what I hare promised. Ver. 10, hye. MSS. Ver. 11, the one. MS.

* He probably magnifies his strength, to induce him to surrender.

+ All that follows, included in brackets, was not in the first edition.


But nyne thowzand, ther was no moo;

The cronykle wyll not layne : Forty thowsande Skottes and fowre

That day fowght them agayne.


But when the batell byganne to joyne,

In hast ther came a knyght, • Then’ 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 owt of the west,

Wyth hym a noble companye;
All they loge at your fathers thys nyght,

And the Battel fayne wold they see.


For Jesu's love, sayd Syr Harye Percy,

That dyed for yow and me, Wende to my



Father agayne, thow saw me not with yee :

And saye

My trowth ys plyght to yonne Skottysh knyght, 45

It nedes me not to layne,
That I schulde byde hym upon thys bent,

And I have hys trowth agayne :


And if that I wende off thys grownde

For soth unfoughten 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 mykel maye; Then ever my manhod schulde be reprovyd 55

Wyth a Skotte another daye.

Wherfore schote, archars, for my sake,

And let scharpe arowes flee: Mynstrells, playe up for your waryson,

And well quyt it schall be.


Every man thynke on hys trewe love,

And marke hym to the Trenite : For to God I make myne avowe

This day wyll I not fle.


The blodye Harte in the Dowglas armes,

Hys standerde stode on hye;
That every man myght full well knowe:

By syde stode Starres thre.

The whyte Lyon on the Ynglysh parte,
Forsoth as I

yow sayne ;


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