With that, there came an arrow keen Out of an English bow, Which struck Earl Douglas to the heart, A deep and deadly blow. Who never said more words than these, 'Fight on, my merry men all! For why? My life is at an end, Lord Percy sees my fall!' Then leaving life, Earl Percy took The dead man by the hand, Who said, 'Earl Douglas, for thy sake, Would I had lost my land! 'O, Christ! my very heart doth bleed For sorrow, for thy sake, For, sure, a more redoubted knight Mischance could never take!' A knight, amongst the Scots there was, Which saw Earl Douglas die; Who straight in heart did vow revenge Upon the Lord Percy. PART II Sir Hugh Montgomery was he called; Who, with a spear most bright, Well mounted on a gallant steed, Ran fiercely through the fight. And passed the English archers all, Without or dread or fear; And through Earl Percy's body then He thrust his hateful spear. With such a vehement force and might, He did his body gore: The staff ran through the other side, A large cloth-yard and more. Thus did both those nobles die, Whose courage none could stain. An English archer then perceived The noble earl was slain. He had a good bow in his hand, Made of a trusty tree. An arrow of a cloth-yard long, Up to the head drew he. Against Sir Hugh Montgomery, So right the shaft he set; The grey-goose wing that was thereon, In his heart's blood was wet. This fight did last from break of day Till setting of the sun: For when they rang the evening bell, The battle scarce was done. With stout Earl Percy there were slain Sir John of Egerton, Sir Robert Ratcliff, and Sir John, Sir James, that bold Baron. And with Sir George and stout Sir James, Both Knights of good account, Good Sir Ralph Raby there was slain, Whose prowess did surmount. For Witherington needs must I wail, As one in doleful dumps, For when his legs were smitten off, He fought upon his stumps. And with Earl Douglas there were slain Sir Hugh Montgomery; And Sir Charles Murray, that from field One foot would never flee. Sir Charles Murray of Ratcliff, too, His sister's son was he: Sir David Lamb, so well esteemed, But savèd he could not be. And the Lord Maxwell, in like case, Did with Earl Douglas die. Of twenty hundred Scottish spears Scarce fifty-five did fly. Of fifteen hundred Englishmen, Went home but fifty-three; The rest in Chevy Chase were slain, Under the greenwood tree. Next day did many widows come Their husbands to bewail: They washed their wounds in brinish tears; But all would not prevail! Their bodies, bathed in purple blood, They bore with them away. They kissed them, dead, a thousand times, Ere they were clad in clay.