Fytte I
I |
| THE PERCY out of Northumberland, | | |
| An avow to God made he | | |
| That he would hunt in the mountains | | |
| Of Cheviot within days three, | | |
| In the maugre° of doughty° Douglas, | 5 | despite; formidable, mighty |
| And all that e’er with him be. | | |
| |
| III |
| The fattest harts° in all Cheviot | | deer |
| He would kill and carry away.— | | |
| ‘By my faith,’ said the doughty Douglas again, | | |
| ‘I will let° that hunting if I may!’ | 10 | hinder |
| |
| III |
| Then the Percy out of Banborowe1 came, | | |
| With him a mighty meinye,° | | company of troops |
| With fifteen hundred archers bold | | |
| Chosen out of shirès three.2 | | |
| |
| IV |
| This began on a Monday at morn, | 15 | |
| In Cheviot the hills so hye;° | | high |
| The child may rue that is unborn, | | |
| It was the more pitye. | | |
| |
| V |
| The drivers through the woodès went | | |
| [All] for to raise the deer, | 20 | |
| Bowmen bicker’d° upon the bent° | | skirmished; coarse, wild grass |
| With their broad arrows clear. | | |
| |
| VI |
| Then the wild° thoro’ the woodès went | | game |
| On every sidè shear;° | | several |
| Grayhounds thoro’ the grevès glent° | 25 | groves darted |
| For to kill their deer. | | |
| |
| VII |
| This began on Cheviot the hills abune° | | above |
| Early on a Monenday;° | | Monday |
| By that it drew to the hour of noon | | |
| A hundred fat harts dead there lay. | 30 | |
| |
| VIII |
| They blew a mort° upon the bent, | | sounded the kill on the horn |
| They ’sembled on sidès shear;° | | on al |
| To the quarry° then the Percy went | | the prey |
| To the brittling° of the deer. | | cutting up |
| |
| IX |
| He said, ‘It was the Douglas’ promise | 35 | |
| This day to meet me here; | | |
| But I wist he would fail, verament!’° | | truly |
| —A great oath the Percy sware.° | | swore |
| |
| X |
| At the last a squire of Northumberland | | |
| Lookèd at his hand full nigh; | 40 | |
| He was ware° o’ the doughty Douglas coming, | | aware |
| With him a great meinye. | | |
| |
| XI |
| Both with speär, bill° and brand,°— | | battle-axe; sword |
| ’Twas a mighty sight to see; | | |
| Hardier men both of heart nor hand | 45 | |
| Were not in Christiantè. | | |
| |
| XII |
| They were twenty hundred spearmen good, | | |
| Withouten any fail: | | |
| They were born along by the water o’ Tweed | | River |
| I’ the boun’s° o’ Teviotdale. | 50 | boundaries |
| |
| XIII |
| ‘Leave off the brittling of deer,’ he said; | | |
| ‘To your bows look ye take good heed, | | |
| For sith° ye were on your mothers born | | since |
| Had ye never so mickle° need.’ | | much |
| |
| XIV |
| The doughty Douglas on a steed | 55 | |
| Rode all his men beforn;° | | in front of |
| His armour glitter’d as did a gleed,° | | a burning coal |
| Bolder bairn° was never born. | | fighter |
| |
| XV |
| ‘Tell me whose men ye are,’ he says, | | |
| ‘Or whose men that ye be; | 60 | |
| Who gave you leave in this Cheviot chase | | |
| In the spite of mine and of me?’ | | |
| |
| XVI |
| The first man that him answer made | | |
| It was the good Lord Percye: | | |
| We will not tell thee whose men we are, | 65 | |
| Nor whose men that we be; | | |
| But we will hunt here in this chase | | |
| In the spite of thine and of thee. | | |
| |
| XVII |
| ‘The fattest harts in all Cheviot | | |
| We have kill’d, to carry away.’— | 70 | |
| ‘By my troth,’° said the doughty Douglas again, | | I swear |
| ‘The one of us dies this day. | | |
| |
| XVIII |
| ‘[Yet] to kill allè these guiltless men | | |
| Alas, it were great pitye! | | |
| But, Percy, thou art a lord of land, | 75 | |
| I an earl in my countrye— | | |
| Let all our men on a party° stand, | | apart |
| And do battle of thee and me!’° | | Let you and I fight |
| |
| XIX |
| ‘Christ’s curse on his crown,’ said the lord Percye, | | |
| ‘Whosoever thereto says nay! | 80 | |
| By my troth, thou doughty Douglas,’ he says, | | |
| ‘Thou shalt never see that day— | | |
| |
| XX |
| —‘Neither in England, Scotland nor France, | | |
| Nor for no man of woman born, | | |
| But, that (and fortune be my chance) | 85 | |
| I dare meet him, one man for one.’ | | |
| |
| XXI |
| Then bespake a squire of Northumberland, | | |
| Richard Witherington was his name; | | |
| ‘It shall never be told in South England | | |
| To King Harry the Fourth° for shame. | 90 | Henry IV |
| |
| XXII |
| ‘I wot you bin° great lordès two, | | I know you are |
| I am a poor squire of land; | | |
| [Yet] I’ll ne’er see my captain fight on a field | | |
| And stand myself and look on. | | |
| But while that I may my weapon wield | 95 | |
| I’ll not fail, both heart and hand.’ | | |
| |
| XXIII |
| That day, that day, that dreadful day!— | | |
| The first fytte° here I find: | | "chapter" of a ballad |
| An you’ll hear° any more o’ the hunting of Cheviot, | | If you wish to hear |
| Yet there is more behind. | 100 | |
|
Fytte II
XXIV
|
| The Englishmen had their bows y-bent, | | |
| Their hearts were good enow;° | | enough |
| The first of arrows that they shot off | | |
| Seven score spearmen they slew. | | |
| |
| XXV |
| Yet bides the Earl Douglas upon the bent, | 105 | |
| A captain good enoghe;° | | enough |
| And that was seenè verament, | | |
| For he wrought them both woe and wouche.° | | mischief |
| |
| XXVI |
| The Douglas parted his host in three, | | |
| Like a chief chieftain of pride; | 110 | |
| With surè spears of mighty tree° | | strong wood, timber |
| They came in on every side; | | |
| |
| XXVII |
| —Throughè our English archery | | |
| Gave many a woond° full wide; | | wound |
| Many a doughty° they gar’d° to dye, | 115 | valorous man; caused |
| Which gainèd them no pride. | | |
| |
| XXVIII |
| The Englishmen let their bowès be, | | |
| And pull’d out brands° that were bright; | | swords |
| It was a heavy sight to see | | |
| Bright swords on basnets° light. | 120 | helmets |
| |
| XXIX |
| Thoro’ rich mail and manoplie° | | gauntlets |
| Many stern° they struck down straight; | | strong men |
| Many a freyke° that was full free | | brave man, warrior |
| There under foot did light. | | |
| |
| XXX |
| At last the Douglas and the Percy met, | 125 | |
| Like to captains of might and of main; | | |
| They swapt° together till they both swat° | | exchanged blows; sweated |
| With swordès of fine Milan.° | | Milanese steel |
| |
| XXXI |
| These worthy freykès for to fight | | |
| Thereto they were full fain,° | 130 | eager |
| Till the blood out of their basnets sprent° | | spurted |
| As ever did hail or rain. | | |
| |
| XXXII |
| ‘Yield thee, Percy,’ said the Douglas, | | |
| ‘And i’ faith I shall thee bring | | |
| Where thou shalt have an Earl’s wages | 135 | |
| Of Jamie our Scottish king. | | |
| |
| XXXIII |
| ‘Thou shaltè have thy ransom free, | | |
| —I hight° thee here this thing; | | pledge |
| For the manfullest man thou art that e’er | | |
| I conquer’d in field fighting.’ | 140 | |
| |
| XXXIV |
| But ‘Nay’, then said the lord Percye, | | |
| ‘I told it thee beforn | | |
| That I would never yielded be | | |
| To man of a woman born.’ | | |
| |
| XXXV |
| With that an arrow came hastily | 145 | |
| Forth of a mighty wane;° | | swain, fellow |
| And it hath stricken the Earl Douglas | | |
| In at the breastè-bane. | | breastbone |
| |
| XXXVI |
| Thoro’ liver and lungès both | | |
| The sharp arròw is gone, | 150 | |
| That never after in his life-days | | |
| He spake mo words but one: | | |
| ’Twas, ‘Fight ye, my merry men, whiles ye may, | | |
| For my life-days bin gone!’ | | |
| |
| XXXVII |
| The Percy leanèd on his brand | 155 | sword |
| And saw the Douglas dee; | | die |
| He took the dead man by the hand, | | |
| And said, ‘Woe is me for thee! | | |
| |
| XXXVIII |
| ‘To have sav’d thy life I’d have parted with | | |
| My lands for yearès three, | 160 | |
| For a better man of heart nor of hand | | |
| Was not in the north countrye.’ | | |
| |
| XXXIX |
| [All this there saw] a Scottish knight, | | |
| Sir Hugh the Montgomerye: | | |
| When he saw Douglas to the death was dight, | 165 | doomed |
| Through a hundred archerye | | |
| He never stint° nor he never blint° | | stopped; blenched, flinched |
| Till he came to the lord Percye. | | |
| |
| XL |
| He set upon the lord Percy | | |
| A dint that was full sore; | 170 | blow |
| With a surè spear of a mighty tree | | |
| Thro’ the body him he bore, | | |
| O’ the t’other side that a man might see | | |
| A large cloth-yard and more. | | |
| |
| XLI |
| An archer of Northumberland | 175 | |
| Saw slain was the lord Percye: | | |
| He bare a bent bow in his hand, | | |
| Was made of a trusty tree. | | |
| |
| XLII |
| An arrow that was a cloth-yard long | | |
| To the hard steel halèd° he, | 180 | pulled |
| A dint that was both sad° and sair° | | serious and fierce |
| He set on Montgomerye. | | |
| |
| XLIII |
| The dint it was both sad and sair | | sure and fierce |
| That he on Montgomerye set; | | |
| The swan-feathers that his arrow bare° | 185 | bore |
| With his heart-blood they were wet. | | |
| |
| XLIV |
| There was never a freykè° one foot would flee, | | fellow |
| But still in stoure° did stand; | | battle |
| Hewing on each other, while they might dree,° | | endure |
| With many a baleful° brand.° | 190 | deadly; sword |
| |
| XLV |
| This battle began in Cheviot | | |
| An hour before the noon, | | |
| And when the even-song bell was rung° | | Early evening, around 5pm |
| The battle was not half done. | | |
| |
| XLVI |
| They took [their stand] on either hand | 195 | |
| By the [lee] light of the moon; | | |
| Many had no strength for to stand | | |
| In Cheviot the hills abune.° | | above |
| |
| XLVII |
| Of fifteen hundred archers of England | | |
| Went away but seventy-and-three; | 200 | |
| Of twenty hundred spearmen of Scotland | | |
| But even five-and-fifty. | | |
| |
| XLVIII |
| There was slain with the bold Percye | | |
| Sir John of Agerstoune, | | |
| Sir Roger, the hendè° Hartley, | 205 | gentle |
| Sir William, the bold Herone. | | |
| |
| XLIX |
| Sir George, the worthy Loumlye, | | |
| A knight of great renown, | | |
| Sir Ralph, the richè Rabye, | | |
| With dints° were beaten down. | 210 | blows |
| |
| L |
| For Witherington my heart was woe | | |
| That ever he slain should be: | | |
| For when both his legs were hewn in two | | |
| Yet he kneel’d and fought on his knee. | | |
| |
| LI |
| There was slayn with the doughty Douglas, | 215 | |
| Sir Hugh the Montgomerye, | | |
| Sir Davy Lambwell, that worthy was, | | |
| His sister’s son was he. | | |
| |
| LII |
| Sir Charles a Murray in that place, | | |
| That never a foot would flee: | 220 | |
| Sir Hew Maxwell, a lord he was, | | |
| With the Douglas did he dee.° | | die |
| |
| LIII |
| So on the morrow they made them biers | | |
| Of birch and hazel so gray; | | |
| Many widows with weeping tears | 225 | |
| Came to fetch their makes° away. | | mates |
| |
| LIV |
| Teviotdale may carp° of care,° | | complain from sorrow |
| Northumberland may make moan, | | |
| For two such captains as slain were there | | |
| On the March-parts° shall never be none. | 230 | the Scottish Marches |
| |
| LV |
| Word is come to Edinboro’, | | |
| To Jamie the Scottish King, | | |
| Earl Douglas, lieutenant of the Marches, | | |
| Lay slain Cheviot within. | | |
| |
| LVI |
| His hands the King did weal° and wring, | 235 | wail |
| Said, ‘Alas! and woe is me! | | |
| Such another captain Scotland within | | |
| I’ faith shall never be!’ | | |
| |
| LVII |
| Word is come to lovely London | | |
| To the fourth Harry, our King, | 240 | |
| Lord Percy, lieutenant of the Marches, | | |
| Lay slain Cheviot within. | | |
| |
| LVIII |
| ‘God have mercy on his soul,’ said King Harry, | | |
| ‘Good Lord, if thy will it be! | | |
| I’ve a hundred captains in England,’ he said, | 245 | |
| ‘As good as ever was he: | | |
| But Percy, an I brook my life,° | | if I enjoy life, as I live |
| Thy death well quit° shall be.’ | | acquitted, avenged. |
| |
| LIX |
| And as our King made his avow | | |
| Like a noble prince of renown, | 250 | |
| For Percy he did it well perform | | |
| After, on Homble-down;3 | | |
| |
| LX |
| Where six-and-thirty Scottish knights | | |
| On a day were beaten down; | | |
| Glendale glitter’d on their armour bright | 255 | |
| Over castle, tower and town. | | |
| |
| LXI |
| This was the Hunting of the Cheviot; | | |
| That e’er began this spurn!° | | kick |
| Old men, that knowen the ground well, | | |
| Call it of Otterburn. | 260 | |
| |
| LXII |
| There was never a time on the Marche-partès | | |
| Since the Douglas and Percy met, | | |
| But ’tis marvel an° the red blood run not | | if |
| As the reane° does in the street. | | rain |
| |
| LXIII |
| Jesu Christ! our balès bete,° | 265 | relieve our suffering |
| And to the bliss° us bring! | | eternal happiness |
| This was the Hunting of the Cheviot: | | |
| God send us all good endìng! | | |
