English and Scottish Ballads, Volume VII

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

The Dowglas answerde hym agayne
      With grete wurds up on hye,                                       10
    And sayd, "I have twenty agaynst the one,
      Byholde, and thow maiste see."

    Wyth that the Percye was grevyd sore,
      For sothe as I yow saye;
    He lyghted dowyn upon his fote,                                     15
      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.                                    20

    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.

    But nyne thowzand, ther was no moo,                                 25
      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;                                       30
    '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                                              35
      That he may see thys fyght.

    "The Baron of Grastoke ys com owt of the west,
      With him a noble companye;
    All they loge at your fathers thys nyght,
      And the battell fayne wold they see.                              40

    "For Jesus love," sayd Syr Harye Percy,
      "That dyed for yow and me,
    Wende to my lorde my father agayne,
      And saye thou saw me not with yee.

    "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,                                       50
    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.

    "Wherefore schote, archars, for my sake,
      And let scharpe arowes flee;
    Mynstrells, play up for your waryson,
      And well quyt it schall be.                                       60

    "Every man thynke on hys trewe love,
      And marke hym to the Trenite;
    For to God I make myne avowe
      Thys day wyll I not fle."

    The blodye harte in the Dowglas armes,                              65
      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,                                          70
    The lucetts and the cressawnts both;
      The Skotts faught them agayne.

Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.

English and Scottish Ballads, Volume VII

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