This was the Hontynge off the Cheviat; That tear begane this spurn: Old men that knowen the grownde well yenoughe, Call it the Battell of Otterburn. At Otterburn began this spurne Uppon a monnynday: Ther was the dougghtè 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. Jhesue Christ our balys bete, And to the blys us brynge! Thus was the Hountynge of the Chevyat: God send us all good endyng. * * * * * EDOM O' GORDON. It fell about the Martinmas, When the wind blew shrill and cauld, Said Edom o' Gordon to his men, "We maun draw to a hauld. "And whatna hauld sall we draw to, My merry men and me? We will gae to the house o' the Rodes, To see that fair ladie." The ladie stude on her castle wa', Beheld baith dale and down, There she was ware of a host of men Were riding towards the town. "O see ye not, my merry men a', O see ye not what I see? Methinks I see a host of men-- I marvel what they be." She ween'd it had been ner ain dear lord As he cam' riding hame; It was the traitor, Edom o' Gordon, Wha recked nor sin nor shame. She had nae suner buskit hersell, Nor putten on her goun, Till Edom o' Gordon and his men Were round about the toun. They had nae suner supper set, Nor suner said the grace, Till Edom o' Gordon and his men Were light about the place. The ladie ran to her tower head, As fast as she could hie, To see if, by her fair speeches, She could with him agree. "Come doun to me, ye ladye gay, Come doun, come doun to me; This nicht sall ye lie within my arms, The morn my bride sall be." "I winna come doun, ye fause Gordon, I winna come doun to thee; I winna forsake my ain dear lord, That is sae far frae me." "Gie owre your house, ye ladie fair, Gie owre your house to me; Or I sail burn yoursell therein, But and your babies three." "I winna gie owre, ye false Gordon, To nae sic traitor as thee; And if ye burn my ain dear babes, My lord sall mak' ye dree! "But reach my pistol, Glaud, my man, And charge ye weel my gun; For, but an I pierce that bludy butcher, We a' sall be undone." She stude upon the castle wa', And let twa bullets flee; She miss'd that bludy butcher's heart, And only razed his knee. "Set fire to the house!" quo' the false Gordon, All wude wi' dule and ire; "False ladie! ye sail rue that shot, As ye burn in the fire." "Wae worth, wae worth ye, Jock, my man! I paid ye weel your fee; Why pu' ye out the grund-wa-stane, Lets in the reek to me? "And e'en wae worth ye, Jock, my man! I paid ye weel your hire; Why pu' ye out my grund-wa-stane, To me lets in the fire?" "Ye paid me weel my hire, lady, Ye paid me weel my fee; But now I'm Edom o' Gordon's man, Maun either do or die."