English and Scottish Ballads, Volume VII

Ballads, English -- England -- Texts; Ballads, Scots -- Scotland -- Texts

Throroue lyvar and longs, bathe
      The sharp arrowe ys gane,                                         50
    That never after in all his lyffe-days,
      He spayke mo wordes but ane:
    That was, "Fyghte ye, my myrry 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 mane be the hande,
      And sayd, "Wo ys me for the!

    "To have savyde thy lyffe, I wolde have pertyde with
      My landes for years thre,                                         60
    For a better man, of hart nare of hande,
      Was not in all the north contrè."

    Off all that se a Skottishe knyght,
      Was callyd Sir Hewe the Monggonbyrry;
    He sawe the Duglas to the deth was dyght,                           65
      He spendyd a spear, a trusti tre:--

    He rod uppon a corsiare
      Throughe a hondrith archery:
    He never stynttyde, nar never blane,
      Tyll he cam to the good lord Persè.                               70

    He set uppone the lord Persè
      A dynte that was full soare;
    With a suar spear of a myghttè tre
      Clean thorow the body he the Persè ber,

    A' the tothar syde that a man myght se                              75
      A large cloth yard and mare:
    Towe bettar captayns wear nat in Cristiantè,
      Then that day slain wear ther.

    An archar off Northomberlonde
      Say slean was the lord Persè;                                     80
    He bar a bende-bowe in his hand,
      Was made off trusti tre.

    An arow, that a cloth yarde was lang,
      To th' harde stele haylde he;
    A dynt that was both sad and soar,                                  85
      He sat on Sir Hewe the Monggonbyrry.

    The dynt yt was both sad and soar,[L87]
      That he on Monggonberry sete;[L88]
    The swane-fethars, that his arrowe bar,
      With his hart-blood the wear wete.                                90

    Ther was never a freak wone foot wolde fle,
      But still in stour dyd stand,
    Heawyng on yche othar, whyll the myght dre,
      With many a balfull brande.

    This battell begane in Chyviat                                      95
      An owar befor the none,
    And when even-song bell was rang,
      The battell was nat half done.

    The tooke on ethar hand[L99]
      Be the lyght off the mone;                                       100
    Many hade no strength for to stande,
      In Chyviat the hillys aboun.[L102]

    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 strenge to stand on hy;
    The chylde may rue that ys unborne,
      It was the mor pittè.                                            110

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English and Scottish Ballads, Volume VII

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