Now we have haryed all Bamboroweschyre, All the welth in the worlde have wee, I rede we ryde to Newe Castell, So styll and stalwurthlye. Upon the morrowe, when it was day, The standerdes schone fulle bryght; To the Newe Castell the toke the waye, And thether they cam fulle ryght. Syr Henry Perssye laye at the Newe Castell,[38] I tell yow withowtten drede; He had byn a march-man all hys dayes, And kept Barwyke upon Twede. To the Newe Castell when they cam, The Skottes they cryde on hyght, Syr Harye Perssye, and thow byste within, Com to the fylde, and fyght: For we have brente Northomberlonde, Thy erytage good and ryght; And syne my logeyng I have take, With my brande dubbyd many a knyght. Syr Harye Perssye cam to the walles, The Skottysh oste for to se; And sayd, And thou hast brente Northomberlonde, Full sore it rewyeth me. Yf thow hast haryed all Bamboroweschyre, Thow hast done me grete envye; For the trespasse thow hast me done, The tone of us schall dye. Where schall I byde the, sayd the Dowglasse, Or where wylte thow com to me? “At Otterborne in the hygh way, Ther mast thow well looged be. The roo full rekeless ther sche runnes, To make the game and glee: The fawken and the fesaunt both, Among the holtes on hye. Ther mast thow have thy welth at wyll, Well looged ther mast be; Yt schall not be long, or I com the tyll,” Sayd syr Harye Perssye. Ther schall I byde the, said the Dowglasse, By the fayth of my bodye. Thether schall I com, sayd syr Harye Perssye; My trowth I plyght to the. A pype of wyne he gave them over the walles, For soth, as I yow saye, Ther he myed the Dowglasse drynke, And all hys ost that daye. The Dowglasse turnyd hym homewarde agayne, For soth withowghten naye, He took hys logeynge at Otterborne Upon a Wedynsday: And ther he pyght hys standerd dowyn, Hys gettyng more and lesse, And syne he warned hys men to goo, To chose ther geldynges gresse. A Skottyshe knyght hoved upon the bent, A wache I dare well saye: So was he ware on the noble Perssy, In the dawnyng of the daye. He prycked to his pavyleon dore, As fast as he myght ronne, Awaken, Dowglasse, cryed the knyght, For hys love that syttes in trone. Awaken, Dowglasse, cryed the knyght, For thow maste waken wyth wynne; Yender have I spyed the prowde Perssye, And seven standardes wyth hym. Nay, by my trowth, the Dowglasse sayed, Yt ys but a fayned taylle: He durst not loke on my brede banner, For all Ynglonde so haylle. Was I not yesterdaye at the Newe Castell, That stondes so fayre on Tyne? For all the men the Perssye had, He cowde not garr me ones to dyne. He stepped owt at hys pavelyon dore, To loke and yt were lesse; “Araye yow, lordynges, one and all, For here bygynnes no peysse.