Thy ransom I will freely give, And thus report of thee, Thou art the most courageous knight That ever I did see. No, Douglas, quoth earl Percy then, Thy proffer I do scorn; I will not yield to any Scot That ever yet was born. 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 spoke 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, And said, “Earl Douglas, for thy life Would I had lost my land! O Christ! my very heart doth bleed, With sorrow for thy sake; For sure a more renowned knight Mischance did never take.” A knight amongst the Scots there was, Which saw earl Douglas die, Who straight in wrath did vow revenge Upon the earl Percy: Sir Hugh Montgomery was he call’d; Who with a spear most bright, Well mounted on a gallant steed, Ran fiercely through the fight; And pass’d the English archers all, Without all 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 spear went through the other side A large cloth-yard, and more. So thus did both these nobles die, Whose courage none could stain: An English archer then perceiv’d The noble earl was slain: He had a bow bent 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-blood was wet. This fight did last from break of day Till setting of the sun; For when they rung the evening-bell The battle scarce was done. With the earl Percy there was slain Sir John of Ogerton, Sir Robert Radclyffe, and sir John, Sir James that bold baron: And, with sir George, and good 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 was slain Sir Hugh Montgomery, Sir Charles Currel, that from the field One foot would never fly; Sir Charles Murrel of Ratcliffe too, His sister’s son was he; Sir David Lamb, so well esteem’d, Yet saved could not be. And the lord Maxwell, in likewise, 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 were slain in Chevy Chase, Under the greenwood tree. Next day did many widows come, Their husbands to bewail; They wash’d their wounds in brinish tears But all would not prevail.