Part VI

156

QUEEN ELEANOR’S CONFESSION

#A. a.# ‘Queen Eleanor’s Confession,’ a broadside, London, Printed for C. Bates, at the Sun and Bible in Gilt-spur-street, near Pye-corner, Bagford Ballads, II, No 26, British Museum (1685?). #b.# Another broadside, Printed for C. Bates in Pye-corner, Bagford Ballads, I, No 33 (1685?). #c.# Another copy, Printed for C. Bates, in Pye-corner, reprinted in Utterson’s Little Book of Ballads, p. 22. #d.# A Collection of Old Ballads, 1723, I, 18.

#B.# Skene MS., p. 39.

#C.# ‘Queen Eleanor’s Confession,’ Buchan’s Gleanings, p. 77.

#D.# ‘The Queen of England,’ Aytoun, Ballads of Scotland, 1859, I, 196.

#E.# ‘Queen Eleanor’s Confession,’ Kinloch’s Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 247.

#F.# ‘Earl Marshall,’ Motherwell’s Minstrelsy, p. 1.

Given in Percy’s Reliques, 1765, II, 145, “from an old printed copy,” with some changes by the editor, of which the more important are in stanzas 2–4. #F#, “recovered from recitation” by Motherwell, repeats Percy’s changes in 2, 3, 10^4, and there is reason to question whether this and the other recited versions are anything more than traditional variations of printed copies. The ballad seems first to have got into print in the latter part of the seventeenth century, but was no doubt circulating orally some time before that, for it is in the truly popular tone. The fact that two friars hear the confession would militate against a much earlier date. In #E# there might appear to be some consciousness of this irregularity; for the Queen sends for a single friar, and the King says he will be “a prelate old” and sit in a dark corner; but none the less does the King take an active part in the shrift.[143]

There is a Newcastle copy, “Printed and sold by Robert Marchbank, in the Customhouse-Entry,” among the Douce ballads in the Bodleian Library, 3, fol. 80, and in the Roxburghe collection, British Museum, III, 634. This is dated in the Museum catalogue 1720?

Eleanor of Aquitaine was married to Henry II of England in 1152, a few weeks after her divorce from Louis VII of France, she being then about thirty and Henry nineteen years of age. “It is needless to observe,” says Percy, “that the following ballad is altogether fabulous; whatever gallantries Eleanor encouraged in the time of her first husband, none are imputed to her in that of her second.”

In Peele’s play of Edward I, 1593, the story of this ballad is transferred from Henry II and Eleanor of Aquitaine to Edward Longshanks and that model of women and wives, Eleanor of Castile, together with other slanders which might less ridiculously have been invented of Henry II’s Eleanor.[144] Edward’s brother Edmund plays the part of the Earl Marshall. The Queen dies; the King bewails his loss in terms of imbecile affection, and orders crosses to be reared at all the stages of the funeral convoy. Peele’s Works, ed. Dyce, I, 184 ff.

There are several sets of tales in which a husband takes a shrift-father’s place and hears his wife’s confession. 1. A fabliau “Du chevalier qui fist sa fame confesse,” Barbazan et Méon, III, 229; Montaiglon, Recueil Général, I, 178, No 16; Legrand, Fabliaux, etc., 1829, IV, 132, with circumstances added by Legrand. 2. Les Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles, 1432, No 78; Scala Celi, 1480, fol. 49;[145] Mensa Philosophica, cited by Manni, Istoria del Decamerone, p. 476; Doni, Novelle, Lucca, 1852, Nov. xiii; Malespini, Ducento Novelle, No 92, Venice, 1609, I, 248; Kirchhof, Wendunmuth, No 245, Oesterley, II, 535; La Fontaine, “Le Mari Confesseur,” Contes, I, No 4. 3. Boccaccio, VII, 5.

In 1, 2, the husband discovers himself after the confession; in 3 he is recognized by the wife before she begins her shrift, which she frames to suit her purposes. In all these, the wife, on being reproached with the infidelity which she had revealed, tells the husband that she knew all the while that he was the confessor, and gives an ingenious turn to her apparently compromising disclosures which satisfies him of her innocence. All these tales have the cynical Oriental character, and, to a healthy taste, are far surpassed by the innocuous humor of the English ballad.

Oesterley, in his notes to Kirchhof, V, 103, cites a number of German story-books in which the tale may, in some form, be found; also Hans Sachs, 4, 3, 7b.[146] In Bandello, Parte Prima, No 9, a husband, not disguising himself, prevails upon a priest to let him overhear his wife’s confession, and afterwards kills her.

Svend Grundtvig informed me that he had six copies of an evidently recent (and very bad) translation of Percy’s ballad, taken down from recitation in different parts of Denmark. In one of these Queen Eleanor is exchanged for a Queen of Norway. Percy’s ballad is also translated by Bodmer, II, 40; Ursinus, p. 59; Talvj, Charakteristik, p. 513; Döring, p. 373; Knortz, L. u. R. Alt-Englands, No 51.

#a.# A broadside, London, Printed for C. Bates, at the Sun & Bible in Gilt-spur-street, near Pye-corner, Bagford Ballads, II, No 26, 1685? #b.# A broadside, Printed for C. Bates, in Pye-corner, Bagford Ballads, I, No 33, 1685? #c.# Another copy of b, reprinted in Utterson’s Little Book of Ballads, p. 22. #d.# A Collection of Old Ballads, 1723, I, 18.

1 Queen Elenor was a sick woman, And afraid that she should dye; Then she sent for two fryars of France, For to speak with them speedily.

2 The King calld down his nobles all, By one, by two, and by three, And sent away for Earl Martial, For to speak with him speedily.

3 When that he came before the King, He fell on his bended knee; ‘A boon, a boon! our gracious king, That you sent so hastily.’

4 ‘I’ll pawn my living and my lands, My septer and my crown, That whatever Queen Elenor says, I will not write it down.

5 ‘Do you put on one fryar’s coat, And I’ll put on another, And we will to Queen Elenor go, One fryar like another.’

6 Thus both attired then they go; When they came to Whitehall, The bells they did ring, and the quiristers sing, And the torches did light them all.

7 When that they came before the Queen, They fell on their bended knee: ‘A boon, a boon! our gracious queen, That you sent so hastily.’

8 ‘Are you two fryars of France?’ she said, ‘Which I suppose you be; But if you are two English fryars, Then hanged shall you be.’

9 ‘We are two fryars of France,’ they said, ‘As you suppose we be; We have not been at any mass Since we came from the sea.’

10 ‘The first vile thing that ere I did I will to you unfold; Earl Martial had my maidenhead, Underneath this cloath of gold.’

11 ‘That is a vile sin,’ then said the king, ‘God may forgive it thee!’ ‘Amen! Amen!’ quoth Earl Martial, With a heavy heart then spoke he.

12 ‘The next vile thing that ere I did To you I’ll not deny; I made a box of poyson strong, To poyson King Henry.’

13 ‘That is a vile sin,’ then said the King, ‘God may forgive it thee!’ ‘Amen! Amen!’ quoth Earl Martial, ‘And I wish it so may be.’

14 ‘The next vile thing that ere I did To you I will discover; I poysoned Fair Rosamond, All in fair Woodstock bower.’

15 ‘That is a vile sin,’ then said the King, ‘God may forgive it thee!’ ‘Amen! Amen!’ quoth Earl Martial, ‘And I wish it so may be.’

16 ‘Do you see yonders little boy, A tossing of that ball? That is Earl Martialś eldest son, And I love him the best of all.

17 ‘Do you see yonders little boy, A catching of the ball? That is King Henry’s son,’ she said, ‘And I love him the worst of all.

18 ‘His head is like unto a bull, His nose is like a boar;’ ‘No matter for that,’ King Henry said, ‘I love him the better therefore.’

19 The King pulld of his fryar’s coat, And appeard all in red; She shriekd and she cry’d, she wrong her hands, And said she was betrayd.

20 The King lookd over his left shoulder, And a grim look looked he, And said, Earl Martial, but for my oath, Then hanged shouldst thou be.

Skene MS., p. 39.

1 Our queen’s sick, an very sick, She’s sick an like to die; She has sent for the friars of France, To speak wi her speedilie.

2 ‘I’ll put on a friar’s robe, An ye’ll put on anither, An we’ll go to Madam the Queen, Like friars bath thegither.’

3 ‘God forbid,’ said Earl Marishall, ‘That ever the like shud be, That I beguile Madam the Queen! I wad be hangit hie.’

4 The King pat on a friar’s robe, Earl Marishall on anither; They’re on to the Queen, Like friars baith thegither.

5 ‘Gin ye be the friars of France, As I trust well ye be— But an ye be ony ither men, Ye sall be hangit hie.’

6 The King he turnd him roun, An by his troth sware he, We hae na sung messe Sin we came frae the sea.

7 ‘The first sin ever I did, An a very great sin ’twas tee, I gae my maidenhead to Earl Marishall, Under the greenwood tree.’

8 ‘That was a sin, an a very great sin, But pardond it may be;’ ‘Wi mendiment,’ said Earl Marishall, But a heavy heart had he.

9 ‘The next sin ever I did, An a very great sin ’twas tee, I poisened Lady Rosamond, An the King’s darling was she.’

10 ‘That was a sin, an a very great sin, But pardond it may be;’ ‘Wi mendiment,’ said King Henry, But a heavy heart had he.

11 ‘The next sin ever I did, An a very great sin ’twas tee, I keepit poison in my bosom seven years, To poison him King Henrie.’

12 ‘That was a sin, an a very great sin, But pardond it may be;’ ‘Wi mendiment,’ said King Henry, But a heavy heart had he.

13 ‘O see na ye yon bonny boys, As they play at the ba? An see na ye Lord Marishal’s son? I lee him best of a’.

14 ‘But see na ye King Henry’s son? He’s headit like a bull, and backit like a boar, I like him warst awa:’ ‘And by my sooth,’ says him King Henry, ‘I like him best o the twa.’

15 The King he turned him roun, Pat on the coat o goud, . . . . . . . The Queen turnd the King to behold.

16 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ‘Gin I hadna sworn by the crown and sceptre roun, Earl Marishal sud been gart die.’

Buchan’s Gleanings, p. 77.

1 The Queen’s faen sick, and very, very sick, Sick, and going to die, And she’s sent for twa friars of France, To speak with her speedilie.

2 The King he said to the Earl Marischal, To the Earl Marischal said he, The Queen she wants twa friars frae France, To speak with her presentlie.

3 Will ye put on a friar’s coat, And I’ll put on another, And we’ll go in before the Queen, Like friars both together.

4 ‘But O forbid,’ said the Earl Marischal, ‘That I this deed should dee! For if I beguile Eleanor our queen, She will gar hang me hie.’

5 The King he turned him round about, An angry man was he; He’s sworn by his sceptre and his sword Earl Marischal should not die.

6 The King has put on a friar’s coat, Earl Marischal on another, And they went in before the Queen, Like friars both together.

7 ‘O, if ye be twa friars of France, Ye’re dearly welcome to me; But if ye be twa London friars, I will gar hang you hie.’

8 ‘Twa friars of France, twa friars of France, Twa friars of France are we, And we vow we never spoke to a man Till we spake to Your Majesty.’

9 ‘The first great sin that eer I did, And I’ll tell you it presentlie, Earl Marischal got my maidenhead, When coming oer the sea.’

10 ‘That was a sin, and a very great sin, But pardoned it may be;’ ‘All that with amendment,’ said Earl Marischal, But a quacking heart had he.

11 ‘The next great sin that eer I did, I’ll tell you it presentlie; I carried a box seven years in my breast, To poison King Henrie.’

12 ‘O that was a sin, and a very great sin, But pardoned it may be;’ ‘All that with amendment,’ said Earl Marischal, But a quacking heart had he.

13 ‘The next great sin that eer I did, I’ll tell you it presentlie; I poisoned the Lady Rosamond, And a very good woman was she.

14 ‘See ye not yon twa bonny boys, As they play at the ba? The eldest of them is Marischal’s son, And I love him best of a’; The youngest of them is Henrie’s son, And I love him none at a’

15 ‘For he is headed like a bull, a bull, He is backed like a boar;’ ‘Then by my sooth,’ King Henrie said, ‘I love him the better therefor.’

16 The King has cast off his friar’s coat, Put on a coat of gold; The Queen she’s turned her face about, She could not ’s face behold.

17 The King then said to Earl Marischal, To the Earl Marischal said he, Were it not for my sceptre and sword, Earl Marischall, ye should die.

Aytoun’s Ballads of Scotland, 2d edition, I, 196, from the recitation of a lady residing in Kirkcaldy; learned of her mother.

1 The queen of England she has fallen sick, Sore sick, and like to die; And she has sent for twa French priests, To bear her companie.

2 The King he has got word o this, And an angry man was he; And he is on to the Earl-a-Marshall, As fast as he can gae.

3 ‘Now you’ll put on a priest’s robe, And I’ll put on anither, And we will on unto the Queen, Like twa French priests thegither.’

4 ‘No indeed!’ said the Earl-a-Marshall, ‘That winna I do for thee, Except ye swear by your sceptre and crown Ye’ll do me nae injurie.’

5 The King has sworn by his sceptre and crown He’ll do him nae injurie, And they are on unto the Queen, As fast as they can gae.

6 ‘O, if that ye be twa French priests, Ye’re welcome unto me; But if ye be twa Scottish lords, High hanged ye shall be.

7 ‘The first sin that I did sin, And that to you I’ll tell, I sleeped wi the Earl-a-Marshall, Beneath a silken bell.

8 ‘And wasna that a sin, and a very great sin? And I pray ye pardon me;’ ‘Amen, and amen!’ said the Earl-a-Marshall, And a wearied man was he.

9 ‘The neist sin that I did sin, And that to you I’ll tell, I keeped the poison seven years in my bosom, To poison the King himsel.

10 ‘And wasna that a sin, and a very great sin? And I pray ye pardon me;’ ‘Amen, and amen!’ said the Earl-a-Marshall, And a wearied man was he.

11 ‘O see ye there my seven sons, A’playing at the ba? There’s but ane o them the King’s himsel, And I like him warst of a’.

12 ‘He’s high-backed, and low-breasted, And he is bald withal;’ ‘And by my deed,’ and says the King, ‘I like him best mysel!

13 ‘O wae betide ye, Earl-a-Marshall, And an ill death may ye die! For if I hadna sworn by my sceptre and crown, High hanged ye should be.’

Kinloch’s Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 247.

1 The Queen fell sick, and very, very sick, She was sick, and like to dee, And she sent for a friar oure frae France, Her confessour to be.

2 King Henry, when he heard o that, An angry man was he, And he sent to the Earl Marshall, Attendance for to gie.

3 ‘The Queen is sick,’ King Henry cried, ‘And wants to be beshriven; She has sent for a friar oure frae France; By the rude, he were better in heaven!

4 ‘But tak you now a friar’s guise, The voice and gesture feign, And when she has the pardon crav’d, Respond to her, Amen!

5 ‘And I will be a prelate old, And sit in a corner dark, To hear the adventures of my spouse, My spouse, and her haly spark.’

6 ‘My liege, my liege, how can I betray My mistress and my queen? O swear by the rude that no damage From this shall be gotten or gien!’

7 ‘I swear by the rude,’ quoth King Henry, ‘No damage shall be gotten or gien; Come, let us spare no cure nor care For the conscience o the Queen.’

* * * * *

8 ‘O fathers, O fathers, I’m very, very sick, I’m sick, and like to dee; Some ghostly comfort to my poor soul O tell if ye can gie!’

9 ‘Confess, confess,’ Earl Marshall cried, ‘And you shall pardoned be;’ ‘Confess, confess,’ the King replied, ‘And we shall comfort gie.’

10 ‘Oh, how shall I tell the sorry, sorry tale! How can the tale be told! I playd the harlot wi the Earl Marshall, Beneath yon cloth of gold.

11 ‘Oh, wasna that a sin, and a very great sin? But I hope it will pardoned be;’ ‘Amen! Amen!’ quoth the Earl Marshall, And a very feart heart had he.

12 ‘O down i the forest, in a bower, Beyond yon dark oak-tree, I drew a penknife frae my pocket To kill King Henerie.

13 ‘Oh, wasna that a sin, and a very great sin? But I hope it will pardoned be;’ ‘Amen! Amen!’ quoth the Earl Marshall, And a very feart heart had he.

14 ‘O do you see yon pretty little boy, That’s playing at the ba? He is the Earl Marshall’s only son, And I loved him best of a’.

15 ‘Oh, wasna that a sin, and a very great sin? But I hope it will pardoned be;’ ‘Amen! Amen!’ quoth the Earl Marshall, And a very feart heart had he.

16 ‘And do you see yon pretty little girl, That’s a’beclad in green? She’s a friar’s daughter, oure in France, And I hoped to see her a queen.

17 ‘Oh, wasna that a sin, and a very great sin? But I hope it will pardoned be;’ ‘Amen! Amen!’ quoth the Earl Marshall, And a feart heart still had he.

18 ‘O do you see yon other little boy, That’s playing at the ba? He is King Henry’s only son, And I like him warst of a’.

19 ‘He’s headed like a buck,’ she said, ‘And backed like a bear;’ ‘Amen!’ quoth the King, in the King’s ain voice, ‘He shall be my only heir.’

20 The King lookd over his left shoulder, An angry man was he: ‘An it werna for the oath I sware, Earl Marshall, thou shouldst dee.’

Motherwell’s Minstrelsy, p. 1; from recitation.

1 Queene Eleanor was a sick woman, And sick just like to die, And she has sent for two fryars of France, To come to her speedilie. And she has sent, etc.

2 The King called downe his nobles all, By one, by two, by three: ‘Earl Marshall, I’ll go shrive the Queene, And thou shalt wend with mee.’

3 ‘A boone, a boone!’ quoth Earl Marshall, And fell on his bended knee, ‘That whatsoever the Queene may say, No harm thereof may bee.’

4 ‘O you’ll put on a gray-friar’s gowne, And I’ll put on another, And we will away to fair London town, Like friars both together.’

5 ‘O no, O no, my liege, my king, Such things can never bee; For if the Queene hears word of this, Hanged she’ll cause me to bee.’

6 ‘I swear by the sun, I swear by the moon, And by the stars so hie, And by my sceptre and my crowne, The Earl Marshall shall not die.’

7 The King’s put on a gray-friar’s gowne, The Earl Marshall’s put on another, And they are away to fair London towne, Like fryars both together.

8 When that they came to fair London towne, And came into Whitehall, The bells did ring, and the quiristers sing, And the torches did light them all.

9 And when they came before the Queene, They kneeled down on their knee: ‘What matter, what matter, our gracious queene, You’ve sent so speedilie?’

10 ‘O, if you are two fryars of France, It’s you that I wished to see; But if you are two English lords, You shall hang on the gallowes-tree.’

11 ‘O we are not two English lords, But two fryars of France we bee, And we sang the Song of Solomon, As we came over the sea.’

12 ‘Oh, the first vile sin I did commit Tell it I will to thee; I fell in love with the Earl Marshall, As he brought me over the sea.’

13 ‘Oh, that was a great sin,’ quoth the King, ‘But pardond it must bee;’ ‘Amen! Amen!’ said the Earl Marshall, With a heavie heart spake hee.

14 ‘Oh, the next sin that I did commit I will to you unfolde; Earl Marshall had my virgin dower, Beneath this cloth of golde.’

15 ‘Oh, that was a vile sin,’ said the King, ‘May God forgive it thee!’ ‘Amen! Amen!’ groaned the Earl Marshall, And a very frightened man was hee.

16 ‘Oh, the next sin that I did commit Tell it I will to thee; I poisoned a lady of noble blood, For the sake of King Henrie.’

17 ‘Oh, that was a great sin,’ said the King, ‘But pardoned it shall bee;’ ‘Amen! Amen!’ said the Earl Marshall, And still a frightened man was he.

18 ‘Oh, the next sin that ever I did Tell it I will to thee; I have kept strong poison this seven long years, To poison King Henrie.’

19 ‘Oh, that was a great sin,’ said the King, ‘But pardoned it must bee;’ ‘Amen! Amen!’ said the Earl Marshall, And still a frightened man was hee.

20 ‘O don’t you see two little boys, Playing at the football? O yonder is the Earl Marshall’s son, And I like him best of all.

21 ‘O don’t you see yon other little boy, Playing at the football? O that one is King Henrie’s son, And I like him worst of all.

22 ‘His head is like a black bull’s head, His feet are like a bear;’ ‘What matter! what matter!’ cried the King, ‘He’s my son, and my only heir.’

23 The King plucked off his fryar’s gowne, And stood in his scarlet so red; The Queen she turned herself in bed, And cryed that she was betrayde.

24 The King lookt oer his left shoulder, And a grim look looked he; ‘Earl Marshall,’ he said, ‘but for my oath, Thou hadst swung on the gallowes-tree.’

* * * * *

#A. a.#

Queen Eleanor’s Confession: Shewing how King Henry, with the Earl Martial, in Fryars Habits, came to her, instead of two Fryars from France, which she sent for. To a pleasant New Tune. Both #a# and #b# are dated in the Museum Catalogue 1670? “C. Bates, at Sun & Bible, near St. Sepulchre’s Church, in Pye Corner, 1685.” Chappell.

10^1. thta ere.

14^2. disdover.

17^1. younders.

#b.#

Title the same, except came to see her.

16^3. Martial’s.

17^1. see then yonders.

20^1. his let.

#c.#

Title as in #a#.

4^3. whatsoever.

8^4. you shall.

16^2. catching of the.

16^3. Marshal’s.

17^1. see then yonders.

#d.#

Queen Eleanor’s Confession to the Two supposed Fryars of France.

1^4. To speak with her.

2^2. and wanting.

2^4. For wanting.

4^1. I’ll pawn my lands the King then cry’d.

4^3. whatsoere.

5^1. on a.

5^4. Like fryar and his brother.

6^3. they wanting.

7^4. you.

8^2. As I.

10^4. Beneath this.

11^1, 13^1, 15^1. That’s.

11^4. then wanting.

16^2. of the.

16^3. Marshal’s.

16^4, 17^4. And wanting.

18^3. Henry cry’d.

19^3. shriekd, she cry’d, and wrung.

20^4. Or hanged.

#E.#

14^4. loved; love in Kinloch’s annotated copy.

#F.#

10^1, 11^1, 20^{1,3}, 21^{1,3}. Oh.

157

GUDE WALLACE

#A.# ‘On an honourable Achievement of Sir William Wallace, near Falkirk,’ a chap-book of Four New Songs and a Prophecy, 1745? Johnson’s Museum, ed. 1853, D. Laing’s additions, IV, 458 *; Maidment’s Scotish Ballads and Songs, 1859, p. 83.

#B.# ‘Sir William Wallace,’ communicated to Percy by Robert Lambe, of Norham, probably in 1768.

#C.# ‘Gude Wallace,’ Johnson’s Museum, p. 498, No 484, communicated by Robert Burns.

#D.# ‘Gude Wallace,’ communicated to Robert Chambers by Elliot Anderson, 1827.

#E.# ‘Willie Wallace,’communicated to James Telfer by A. Fisher.

#F.# ‘Willie Wallace,’ Buchan’s Gleanings, p. 114.

#G.# ‘Sir William Wallace,’ Alexander Laing’s Thistle of Scotland, p. 100; Motherwell’s MS., p. 487.

#H.# ‘Wallace and his Leman,’ Buchan’s Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 226.

#C# is reprinted by Finlay, I, 103. It is made the basis of a long ballad by Jamieson, II, 166, and serves as a thread for Cunningham’s ‘Gude Wallace,’ Scottish Songs, I, 262.[147] #F# is repeated by Motherwell, Minstrelsy, p. 364, and by Aytoun, I, 54. A copy in the Laing MSS, University of Edinburgh, Div. II, 358, is #C#.

Blind Harry’s Wallace (of about 1460, earlier than 1488) is clearly the source of this ballad. #A-F# are derived from vv 1080–1119 of the Fifth Book. Here Wallace, on his way to a hostelry with a comrade, met a woman, who counselled them to pass by, if Scots, for southrons were there, drinking and talking of Wallace; twenty are there, making great din, but no man of fence. “Wallace went in and bad Benedicite.” The captain said, Thou art a Scot, the devil thy nation quell. Wallace drew, and ran the captain through; “fifteen he straik and fifteen has he slayn;” his comrade killed the other five.

The story of #A-E# is sufficiently represented by that of #A#. Wallace comes upon a woman washing, and asks her for tidings. There are fifteen Englishmen at the hostelry seeking Wallace. Had he money he would go thither. She tells him out twenty shillings (for which he takes off both hat and hood, and thanks her reverently). He bows himself over a staff and enters the hostelry, saying, Good ben be here (in #C#, he bad Benedicite, in the words of Blind Harry). The captain asks the crooked carl where he was born, and the carl answers that he is a Scot. The captain offers the carl twenty shillings for a sight of Wallace. The carl wants no better bode, or offer.[148] He strikes the captain such a blow over the jaws that he will never eat more, and sticks the rest. Then he bids the goodwife get him food, for he has eaten nothing for two days. Ere the meal is ready, fifteen other Englishmen light at the door. These he soon disposes of, sticking five, trampling five in the gutter, and hanging five in the wood.

#F# makes Wallace change clothes with a beggar, and ask charity at the inn. He kills his thirty men between eight and four, and then returning to the North-Inch (a common lying along the Tay, near Perth) finds the maid who was washing her lilie hands in st. 3 still “washing tenderlie.” He pulls out twenty of the fifty pounds which he got from the captain, and hands them over to the maid for the good luck of her half-crown.

#G# has the change of clothes with the beggar, found in #F#, and prefixes to the story of the other versions another adventure of Wallace, taken from the Fourth Book of Blind Harry, vv 704–87. Wallace’s enemies have seen him leaving his mistress’s house. They seize her, threaten to burn her unless she ‘tells,’ and promise to marry her to a knight if she will help to bring the rebel down. Wallace returns, and she seeks to detain him, but he says he must go back to his men. Hereupon she falls to weeping, and ends with confessing her treason. He asks her if she repents; she says that to mend the miss she would burn on a hill, and is forgiven. Wallace puts on her gown and curches, hiding his sword under his weed, tells the armed men who are watching for him that Wallace is locked in, and makes good speed out of the gate. Two men follow him, for he seems to be a stalwart quean; Wallace turns on them and kills them. This is Blind Harry’s story, and it will be observed to be followed closely in the ballad, with the addition of a pitcher in each hand to complete the female disguise, and two more southrons to follow and be killed. The first half of this version is plainly a late piece of work, very possibly of this century, much later than the other, which itself need not be very old. But the portions of Blind Harry’s poem out of which these ballads were made were perhaps themselves composed from older ballads, and the restitution of the lyrical form may have given us something not altogether unlike what was sung in the fifteenth, or even the fourteenth, century. The fragment #H# is, as far as it goes, a repetition of #G#.

Bower (1444–49) says that after the battle of Roslyn, 1298, Wallace took ship and went to France, distinguishing himself by his valor against pirates on the sea and against the English on the continent, as ballads both in France and Scotland testify.[149] A fragment of a ballad relating to Wallace is preserved in Constable’s MS. Cantus: Leyden’s Complaynt of Scotland, p. 226.

Wallace parted his men in three And sundrie gaits are gone.

#C# is translated by Arndt, Blütenlese, p. 198; #F# by Knortz, Schottische Balladen, p. 69, No 22.

A chap-book of Four New Songs and a Prophecy, 1745? The Scots Musical Museum, 1853, D. Laing’s additions, IV, 458 *; Maidment, Scotish Ballads and Songs, 1859, p. 83.

1 ‘Had we a king,’ said Wallace then, ‘That our kind Scots might live by their own! But betwixt me and the English blood I think there is an ill seed sown.’

2 Wallace him over a river lap, He lookd low down to a linn; He was war of a gay lady Was even at the well washing.

3 ‘Well mot ye fare, fair madam,’ he said, ‘And ay well mot ye fare and see! Have ye any tidings me to tell, I pray you’ll show them unto me.’

4 ‘I have no tidings you to tell, Nor yet no tidings you to ken; But into that hostler’s house There’s fifteen of your Englishmen.

5 ‘And they are seeking Wallace there, For they’ve ordained him to be slain:’ ‘O God forbid!’ said Wallace then, ‘For he’s oer good a kind Scotsman.

6 ‘But had I money me upon, And evn this day, as I have none, Then would I to that hostler’s house, And evn as fast as I could gang.’

7 She put her hand in her pocket, She told him twenty shillings oer her knee; Then he took off both hat and hood, And thankd the lady most reverently.

8 ‘If eer I come this way again, Well paid [your] money it shall be;’ Then he took off both hat and hood, And he thankd the lady most reverently.

9 He leand him twofold oer a staff, So did he threefold oer a tree, And he’s away to the hostler’s house, Even as fast as he might dree.

10 When he came to the hostler’s house, He said, Good-ben be here! quoth he: An English captain, being deep load, He asked him right cankerdly,

11 Where was you born, thou crooked carle, And in what place, and what country? ’Tis I was born in fair Scotland, A crooked carle although I be.’

12 The English captain swore by th’ rood, ‘We are Scotsmen as well as thee, And we are seeking Wallace; then To have him merry we should be.’

13 ‘The man,’ said Wallace, ‘ye’re looking for, I seed him within these days three; And he has slain an English captain, And ay the fearder the rest may be.’

14 ‘I’d give twenty shillings,’ said the captain, ‘To such a crooked carle as thee, If you would take me to the place Where that I might proud Wallace see.’

15 ‘Hold out your hand,’ said Wallace then, ‘And show your money and be free, For tho you’d bid an hundred pound, I never bade a better bode,’ [said he].

16 He struck the captain oer the chafts, Till that he never chewed more; He stickd the rest about the board, And left them all a sprawling there.

17 ‘Rise up, goodwife,’ said Wallace then, ‘And give me something for to eat; For it’s near two days to an end Since I tasted one bit of meat.’

18 His board was scarce well covered, Nor yet his dine well scantly dight, Till fifteen other Englishmen Down all about the door did light.

19 ‘Come out, come out,’ said they, ‘Wallace!’ then, ‘For the day is come that ye must die;’ And they thought so little of his might, But ay the fearder they might be.

20 The wife ran but, the gudeman ran ben, It put them all into a fever; Then five he sticked where they stood, And five he trampled in the gutter.

21 And five he chased to yon green wood, He hanged them all out-oer a grain; And gainst the morn at twelve o’clock, He dined with his kind Scottish men.

Communicated to Percy by R. Lambe, of Norham, apparently in 1768.

1 ‘I wish we had a king,’ says Wallace, ‘That Scotland might not want a head; In England and in Scotland baith, I’m sure that some have sowed ill seed.’

2 Wallace he oer the water did luke, And he luked law down by a glen, And he was aware of a gay lady, As she was at the well washing.

3 ‘Weel may ye save, fair lady!’ he says, ‘Far better may ye save and see! If ye have ony tidings to tell, I pray cum tell them a’to me.’

4 ‘I have no tidings you to tell, And as few tidings do I ken; But up and to yon ostler-house Are just gane fifteen gentlemen.

5 ‘They now are seeking Gude Wallace, And ay they’re damning him to hang;’ ‘Oh God forbid,’ says Wallace then, ‘I’m sure he is a true Scotsman.

6 ‘Had I but ae penny in my pocket, Or in my company ae baubee, I woud up to yon ostler-house, A’these big gentlemen to see.’

7 She pat her hand into her pocket, She powd out twenty shillings and three: ‘If eer I live to come this way, Weel payed shall your money be.’

8 He leaned him twafold oer a staff, Sae did he twafold oer a tree, And he’s gane up to the ostler-house, A’these fine gentlemen to see.

9 When he cam up among them a’, He bad his benison be there; The captain, being weel buke-learnd, Did answer him in domineer.

10 ‘Where was ye born, ye cruked carl, Or in what town, or what countree?’ ‘O I was born in fair Scotland, A cruked carl although I be.’

11 The captain sware by the root of his sword, Saying, I’m a Scotsman as weel as thee; Here’s twenty shillings of English money To such a cruked carl as thee, If thou’ll tell me of that Wallace; He’s ay the creature I want to see.

12 ‘O hawd your hand,’ says Wallace then, ‘I’m feard your money be not gude; If ’twere as muckle and ten times mair, It shoud not bide anither bode.’

13 He’s taen the captain alang the chaps, A wat he never chawed mair; The rest he sticked about the table, And left them a’a sprawling there.

14 ‘Gude wife,’ he said, ‘for my benison, Get up and get my dinner dight; For it is twa days till an end Syne I did taste ane bit of meat.’

15 Dinner was not weel made ready, Nor yet upon the table set, When fifteen other Englishmen Alighted all about the yate.

16 ‘Come out, come out now, Wallace,’ they say, ‘For this is the day ye are to dee; Ye trust sae mickle in God’s might, And ay the less we do fear thee.’

17 The gude wife ran but, the gude man ran ben, They pat the house all in a swither; Five sune he sticked where he stude, And five he smitherd in a gutter.

18 Five he chac’d to the gude green-wood, And hanged them a’out-oer a pin; And at the morn at eight o’clock He din’d with his men at Lough-mabin.

Johnson’s Museum, p. 498, No 484, communicated by Robert Burns.

1 ‘O For my ain king,’ quo Gude Wallace, ‘The rightfu king of fair Scotland! Between me and my soverign blude I think I see some ill seed sawn.’

2 Wallace out over yon river he lap, And he has lighted low down on yon plain, And he was aware of a gay ladie, As she was at the well washing.

3 ‘What tydins, what tydins, fair lady?’ he says, ‘What tydins hast thou to tell unto me? What tydins, what tydins, fair lady?’ he says, ‘What tydins hae ye in the south countrie?’

4 ‘Low down in yon wee ostler-house There is fyfteen Englishmen, And they are seekin for Gude Wallace, It’s him to take and him to hang.’

5 ‘There’s nocht in my purse,’ quo Gude Wallace, ‘There’s nocht, not even a bare pennie; But I will down to yon wee ostler-house, Thir fyfteen Englishmen to see.’

6 And when he cam to yon wee ostler-house He bad bendicite be there; . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

7 ‘Where was ye born, auld crookit carl? Where was ye born, in what countrie?’ ‘I am a true Scot born and bred, And an auld crookit carl just sic as ye see.’

8 ‘I wad gie fifteen shillings to onie crookit carl, To onie crookit carl just sic as ye, If ye will get me Gude Wallace; For he is the man I wad very fain see.’

9 He hit the proud captain alang the chafft-blade, That never a bit o meal he ate mair; And he sticket the rest at the table where they sat, And he left them a’lyin sprawlin there.

10 ‘Get up, get up, gudewife,’ he says, ‘And get to me some dinner in haste; For it will soon be three lang days Sin I a bit o meat did taste.’

11 The dinner was na weel readie, Nor was it on the table set, Till other fifteen Englishmen Were a’lighted about the yett.

12 ‘Come out, come out now, Gude Wallace! This is the day that thou maun die:’ ‘I lippen nae sae little to God,’ he says, ‘Altho I be but ill wordie.’

13 The gudewife had an auld gudeman; By Gude Wallace he stiffly stood, Till ten o the fyfteen Englishmen Before the door lay in their blude.

14 The other five to the greenwood ran, And he hangd these five upon a grain, And on the morn, wi his merry men a’, He sat at dine in Lochmaben town.

Communicated to Robert Chambers by Elliot Anderson, Galashiels, 21 April, 1827, in a letter preserved among Kinloch’s papers. Copied, with changes, in Kinloch MSS, I, 177. Furnished me by Mr. Macmath.

1 ‘I wish we had our king,’ quo Gude Wallace, ‘An ilka true Scotsman had his nawn; For between us an the southron louns I doubt some ill seed has been sawn.’

2 Wallace he owre the water gaed, An looked low down by a glen, An there he saw a pretty, pretty maid, As she was at the well washin.

3 ‘O weel may ye wash, my bonny, bonny maid! An weel may ye saep, an me to see! If ye have ony tidins to tell, I pray you tell them unto me.’

4 ‘I have no tidins for to tell, Nor ony uncos do I ken; But up into yon little alehouse An there sits fyfteen Englishmen.

5 ‘An ay they are speakin o Gude Wallace, An ay they are doomin him to hang:’ ‘O forbid!’ quo Gude Wallace, ‘He’s owre truehearted a Scotsman.

6 ‘Had I but a penny in my pouch, As I have not a single bawbee, I would up into yon little alehouse, An ay thae southron blades to see.’

7 She’s put her hand into her pouch, An counted him out pennies three; ‘If ever I live to come back this way, Weel paid the money it shall be.’

8 He’s taen a staff into his hand, An leand himsel outowre a tree, An he’s awa to yon little alehouse, An ay the southron louns to see.

9 When he gaed in to that little alehouse, He bad his bennison be there; The captain answered him [in] wrath, He answerd him with domineer.

10 ‘O whare was ye born, ye crooked auld carle? An how may this your dwellin be?’ ‘O I was born in fair Scotland, A crooked carle altho I be.’

11 ‘O I would een gie twenty shillins To ony sic crooked carle as thee That wad find me out Gude Wallace; For ay that traitor I lang to see.’

12 ‘Haud out your hand,’ quo Gude Wallace, ‘I doubt your money be not gude; If ye’ll gie ither twenty shillins, It neer shall bide ye anither bode.’

13 He’s taen the captain outowre the jaws, Anither word spak he neer mair; An five he sticket whare they sat, The rest lay scramblin here an there.

14 ‘Get up, get up, gudewife,’ he says, ‘An get some meat ready for me, For I hae fasted this three lang days; A wat right hungry I may be.’

15 The meat it wasna weel made ready, Nor as weel on the table set, Till there cam fyfteen Englishmen An lighted a’about the yett.

16 The gudewife ran but, the gudeman ran ben; It put them a’in sic a stoure That five he sticket whare they sat, An five lay sprawlin at the door.

17 An five are to the greenwood gane, An he’s hangd them a’outowre a tree, An before the mornin twal o clock He dined wi his men at Loch Marie.

Communicated to James Telfer by A. Fisher, as written down from the mouth of a serving-man, who had learned it in the neighborhood of Lochmaben. Mr Robert White’s papers.

1 Willie Wallace the water lap, And lighted low down in a glen; There he came to a woman washing, And she had washers nine or ten.

2 ‘O weel may ye wash!’ said Willie Wallace, ‘O weel may ye wash!’ said fair Willie, ‘And gin ye have any tidings to tell, I pray ye tell them unto me.’

3 ‘I have nae tidings for to tell, And as few will I let ye ken; But down into yon hosteler-ha Lies fifteen English gentlemen.’

4 ‘O had I ae penny in my pocket, Or had I yet ane bare bawbee, I would go to yon hosteler-ha, All for these Englishmen to see.

5 ‘O wil ye len me ane pennie, Or will ye len me a bare bawbee, I would go to yon hosteler-ha, All for these Englishmen to see.’

6 She’s put her hand into her pocket, And she’s gaen him out guineas three, And he’s away to yon ostler-ha, All for these Englishmen to see.

7 Before he came to the hosteler-ha, He linkit his armour oer a tree; These Englishmen, being weel book-learned, They said to him, Great Dominie!

8 Where was ye born, ye crookit carle? Where was ye born, or in what countrie? ‘In merry Scotland I was born, A crookit carle altho I be.’

9 ‘Here’s fifteen shillings,’ one of them said, ‘Here’s other fifteen I’ll gie to thee, If you will tell me where the traitor Willie Wallace is, Or where away thou thinks he’ll be.’

10 ‘Pay down, pay down your money,’ he said, ‘Pay down, pay down richt speedilie, For if your answer be not good, You shall have the downfall of Robin Hood,’ [said he].

11 He struck the captain on the jaw, He swore that he would chow nae mair cheese; He’s killed all the rest with his good broad-sword, And left them wallowing on their knees.

12 ‘Go cover the table,’ said Willie Wallace, ‘Go cover the table, get me some meat, For it is three days and rather mair Since I did either drink or eat.’

13 They had not the table weel covered, Nor yet the candle weel gaen licht, Till fifteen other Englishmen They a’down at the door did light.

14 ‘Come out, come out, Willie Wallace,’ they said. ‘Come out, come out, and do not flee, For we have sworn by our good broadswords That this is the nicht that you sall dee.’

15 He’s killed five with his good broadsword, He’s drowned other five in the raging sea, And he’s taen other five to the merry greenwood, And hanged them oer the highest tree.

Buchan’s Gleanings, p. 114; from a gypsy tinker, p. 199.

1 Wallace in the high highlans, Neither meat nor drink got he; Said, Fa me life, or fa me death, Now to some town I maun be.

2 He’s put on his short claiding, And on his short claiding put he; Says, Fa me life, or fa me death, Now to Perth-town I maun be.

3 He steped oer the river Tay, I wat he steped on dry land; He was aware of a well-fared maid, Was washing there her lilie hands.

4 ‘What news, what news, ye well-fared maid? What news hae ye this day to me?’ ‘No news, no news, ye gentle knight, No news hae I this day to thee, But fifteen lords in the hostage-house Waiting Wallace for to see.’

5 ‘If I had but in my pocket The worth of one single pennie, I would go to the hostage-house, And there the gentlemen to see.’

6 She put her hand in her pocket, And she has pulld out half-a-crown; Says, Take ye that, ye belted knight, ‘Twill pay your way till ye come down.

7 As he went from the well-fared maid, A beggar bold I wat met he, Was coverd wi a clouted cloak, And in his hand a trusty tree.

8 ‘What news, what news, ye silly auld man? What news hae ye this day to gie?’ ‘No news, no news, ye belted knight, No news hae I this day to thee, But fifteen lords in the hostage-house Waiting Wallace for to see.’

9 ‘Ye’ll lend me your clouted cloak, That covers you frae head to shie, And I’ll go to the hostage-house, Asking there for some supplie.’

10 Now he’s gone to the West-muir wood, And there he’s pulld a trusty tree; And then he’s on to the hostage gone, Asking there for charitie.

11 Down the stair the captain comes, Aye the poor man for to see: ‘If ye be a captain as good as ye look, Ye’ll give a poor man some supplie; If ye be a captain as good as ye look, A guinea this day ye’ll gie to me.’

12 ‘Where were ye born, ye crooked carle? Where were ye born, in what countrie?’ ‘In fair Scotland I was born, Crooked carle that I be.’

13 ‘I would give you fifty pounds, Of gold and white monie, I would give you fifty pounds, If the traitor Wallace ye’d let me see.’

14 ‘Tell down your money,’ said Willie Wallace, ‘Tell down your money, if it be good; I’m sure I have it in my power, And never had a better bode.

15 ‘Tell down your money,’ said Willie Wallace, ‘And let me see if it be fine; I’m sure I have it in my power To bring the traitor Wallace in.’

16 The money was told on the table, Silver bright of pounds fiftie; ‘Now here I stand,’ said Willie Wallace, ‘And what hae ye to say to me? ’

17 He slew the captain where he stood, The rest they did quack an roar; He slew the rest around the room, And askd if there were any more.

18 ‘Come, cover the table,’ said Willie Wallace, ‘Come, cover the table now, make haste; For it will soon be three lang days Sin I a bit o meat did taste.’

19 The table was not well covered, Nor yet was he set down to dine, Till fifteen more of the English lords Surrounded the house where he was in.

20 The guidwife she ran but the floor, And aye the guidman he ran ben; From eight o clock till four at noon He has killd full thirty men.

21 He put the house in sick a swither That five o them he sticket dead, Five o them he drownd in the river, And five hung in the West-muir wood.

22 Now he is on to the North-Inch gone, Where the maid was washing tenderlie; ‘Now by my sooth,’ said Willie Wallace, ‘It’s been a sair day’s wark to me.’

23 He’s put his hand in his pocket, And he has pulld out twenty pounds; Says, Take ye that, ye weel-fared maid, For the gude luck of your half-crown.

The Thistle of Scotland, Alexander Laing, p. 100, from the repetition of an old gentlewoman in Aberdeenshire. Also Motherwell’s MS., p. 487, communicated by Peter Buchan of Peterhead, “who had it from an old woman in that neighborhood.”

1 Woud ye hear of William Wallace, An sek him as he goes, Into the lan of Lanark, Amang his mortel faes?

2 There was fyften English sogers Unto his ladie cam, Said, Gie us William Wallace, That we may have him slain.

3 Woud ye gie William Wallace, That we may have him slain, And ye’s be wedded to a lord, The best in Christendeem.

4 ‘This verra nicht at seven, Brave Wallace will come in, And he’ll come to my chamber-door, Without or dread or din.’

5 The fyften English sogers Around the house did wait, And four brave southron foragers Stood hie upon the gait.

6 That verra nicht at seven Brave Wallace he came in, And he came to his ladie’s bouir, Withouten dread or din.

7 When she beheld him Wallace, She star’d him in the face; ‘Ohon, alas!’ said that ladie, ‘This is a woful case.

8 ‘For I this nicht have sold you, This nicht you must be taen, And I’m to be wedded to a lord, The best in Christendeem.’

9 ‘Do you repent,’ said Wallace, ‘The ill you’ve dane to me?’ ‘Ay, that I do,’ said that ladie, ‘And will do till I die.

10 ‘Ay, that I do,’ said that ladie, ‘And will do ever still, And for the ill I’ve dane to you, Let me burn upon a hill.’

11 Now God forfend,’ says brave Wallace, ‘I shoud be so unkind; Whatever I am to Scotland’s faes, I’m aye a woman’s friend.

12 ‘Will ye gie me your gown, your gown, Your gown but and your kirtle, Your petticoat of bonny brown, And belt about my middle?

13 ‘I’ll take a pitcher in ilka hand, And do me to the well; They’ll think I’m one of your maidens, Or think it is yoursell.’

14 She has gien him her gown, her gown, Her petticoat and kirtle, Her broadest belt, wi silver clasp, To bind about his middle.

15 He’s taen a pitcher in ilka hand, And dane him to the well; They thought him one of her maidens, They kend it was nae hersell.

16 Said one of the southron foragers, See ye yon lusty dame? I woud nae gie muckle to thee, neebor, To bring her back agen.

17 Then all the southrons followd him, And sure they were but four; But he has drawn his trusty brand, And slew them pair by pair.

18 He threw the pitchers frae his hands, And to the hills fled he, Until he cam to a fair may, Was washin on yon lea.

19 ‘What news, what news, ye weel-far’d may? What news hae ye to gie?’ ‘Ill news, ill news,’ the fair may said, ‘Ill news I hae to thee.

20 ‘There is fyften English sogers Into that thatched inn, Seeking Sir William Wallace; I fear that he is slain.’

21 ‘Have ye any money in your pocket? Pray lend it unto me, And when I come this way again, Repaid ye weel shall be.’

22 Sheś put her hand in her pocket, And taen out shillings three; He turnd him right and round about, And thankd the weel-far’d may.

23 He had not gone a long rig length, A rig length and a span, Until he met a bold beggar, As sturdy as coud gang.

24 ‘What news, what news, ye bold beggar? What news hae ye to gie?’ ‘O heavy news,’ the beggar said, ‘I hae to tell to thee.

25 ‘There is fyften English sogers, I heard them in yon inn, Vowing to kill him Wallace; I fear the chief is slain.’

26 ‘Will ye change apparell wi me, auld man? Change your apparell for mine? And when I come this way again, Ye’ll be my ain poor man.’

27 When he got on the beggar’s coat, The pike-staff in his hand, He’s dane him down to yon tavern, Where they were drinking wine.

28 ‘What news, what news, ye staff-beggar? What news hae ye to gie?’ ‘I hae nae news, I heard nae news, As few I’ll hae frae thee.’

29 ‘I think your coat is ragged, auld man; But woud you wages win, And tell where William Wallace is, We’ll lay gold in your hand.’

30 ‘Tell down, tell down your good red gold, Upon the table-head, And ye sall William Wallace see, Wi the down-come of Robin Hood.’

31 They had nae tauld the money down, And laid it on his knee, When candles, lamps, and candlesticks, He on the floor gard flee.

32 And he has drawn his trusty brand, And slew them one by one, Then sat down at the table-head, And called for some wine.

33 The goodwife she ran but, ran but, The goodman he ran ben, The verra bairns about the fire Were a’like to gang brain.

34 ‘Now if there be a Scotsman here, He’ll come and drink wi me; But if there be an English loun, It is his time to flee.’

35 The goodman was an Englishman, And to the hills he ran; The goodwife was a Scots woman, And she came to his hand.

Buchan’s Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 226.

1 Wallace wight, upon a night, Came riding oer the linn, And he is to his leman’s bower, And tirld at the pin.

2 ‘O sleep ye, wake ye, lady?’ he said, ‘Ye’ll rise, lat me come in.’ ‘O wha’s this at my bower-door, That knocks, and knows my name? ’ ‘My name is William Wallace, Ye may my errand ken.’

3 ‘The truth to you I will rehearse, The secret I’ll unfold; Into your enmies’ hands this night I fairly hae you sold.’

4 ‘If that be true ye tell to me, Do ye repent it sair?’ ‘O that I do,’ she said, ‘dear Wallace, And will do evermair!

5 ‘The English did surround my house, And forced me theretill; But for your sake, my dear Wallace, I coud burn on a hill.’

6 Then he gae her a loving kiss, The tear droppd frae his ee; Says, Fare ye well for evermair, Your face nae mair I’ll see.

7 She dressd him in her ain claithing, And frae her house he came; Which made the Englishmen admire, To see this stalwart dame.

8 He is to Saint Johnston gane, And there he playd him well; For there he saw a well-far’d may, Was washing at a well.

9 ‘What news, what news, ye well-far’d may? What news hae ye to me? What news, what news, ye well-far’d may, All from your north countrie?’

10 ‘See ye not yon tavern-house, That stands on yonder plain? This very day have landet in it Full fifteen Englishmen;

11 ‘In search of Wallace, our dear champion, Ordaining that he shoud dee.’ ‘Then on my troth,’ said Wallace wight, ‘These Englishmen I’se see.’

* * * * *

#A.#

2^3. was not war. #F# 3 has wasna aware. #B#, #C#, have the obviously right reading.

5^1. Wallace then. Maidment, there.

5^4. Maidment, ouer good.

10^1. Maidment, When come.

10^2. quoth he be here.

12^4. Maidment, should we.

#B.#

8^2. oer a stree. Stree is glossed by Lambe as stick, but this is impossible: the s was induced by the s in staff above.

10^3, 12^1. Oh.

11^1. root of his sword simply from ignorance of the meaning of the rood, by which the captain swears in #A# 12; rood of his sword is hardly to be thought of.

12^2. A word for A wat. See #D# 14^4.

16^{3,4}. Corrupted: the words should be Wallace’s. Cf. #C# 12.

#C.#

9^2. meal: perhaps meat.

#D.#

1^2. Var. (or gloss), his ain.

2^1. went changed to gaed (for rhyme?).

9^4. Var. with angry jeer.

#E.#

2^3. gin he. A. Fisher says that lines are wanting, and has supplied two after 7^2 (making a stanza of 7^{3,4}, 8^{1,2}, and leaving 8^{3,4} as a half stanza) and two after 10^2 (leaving 10^{3,4} as the second half of another stanza). The arrangement here adopted is in conformity with that of the other copies.

#F.#

3^3. wasna.

22^1. Insch.

#G.#

Buchan’s variations.

2^3. And for Said.

3^4. Christendeen.

9^2, 10^3, 15^2, 27^3. done.

10^4. on a.

12^1. me wanting.

20^2. I heard them in yon inn.

21^1. you.

32^2. ane by ane.

158

HUGH SPENCER’S FEATS IN FRANCE

#A.# ‘Hugh Spencer,’ Percy MS., p. 281; Hales and Furnivall, II, 290.

#B.# ‘Hugh Spencer,’ Percy Papers, communicated by the Duchess Dowager of Portland.

#C.# Dr Joseph Robertson’s Journal of Excursions, No 4.

The king of England, #A#, #B#, sends Hugh Spencer as ambassador to France, to know whether there is to be peace or war between the two lands. Spencer takes with him a hundred men-at-arms, #A#; twenty ships, #B#. The French king, Charles, #A# 30, declares for war, #A#, #C#; says that the last time peace was broken it was not along of him, #B#. The queen, Maude, #B# 9, is indignant that the king should parley with traitors, #A#, with English shepherds, #B#. She proposes to Spencer a joust with one of her knights. The Englishman has no jousting-horse. Three horses are brought out for him, all of which he rejects, #A#, #B#; in #C#, two. In #A# he calls for his old hack which he had brought over sea; in #B#, #C#, he accepts a fourth [third], a fiery-eyed black. Spencer breaks his spear, a French shaft, upon his antagonist; three spears [two] are tied together to make something strong enough for him to wield. He unhorses the Frenchman, then rides through the French camp and kills some thirteen or fourteen score of King Charles’s men, #A#. The king says he will have his head, #A#, with some provocation certainly; the queen says as much in #B#, though Spencer has only killed her champion in fair fight. Spencer has but four true brethren left, #A# 33; we are not told what had become of the rest of his hundred. With these, or, in #B#, with two, he makes a stand against the royal guard, and kills scores of them. The French king begs him to hold his hand, #A# 34, #B# 35. There shall never be war with England while peace may be kept, #A#; he shall take back with him all the ships he brought, #B#.[150]

Hugh is naturally turned into a Scotsman in the Scottish version, #C#. The shepherd’s son that he is matched with, 7, 15, is explained by traditional comment to be the queen’s cousin.

These feats of Hugh Spencer do not outstrip those of the Breton knight Les Aubrays, when dealing with the French, Luzel, I, 286–305, II, 564–581; nor is his fanfaronnerie much beyond that of Harry Fifth. The Breton knight was explicitly helped by St Anne, but then Spencer and Harry have God and St George to borrow.

Liebrecht well remarks, Göttinger Gelehrte Anzeigen, 1868, p. 1900, that Spencer’s rejecting the three French horses and preferring his old hack is a characteristically traditional trait, and like what we read of Walter of Aquitania in the continuation of his story in the chronicle of the cloister of Novalesa. After Walter, in his old age, had entered this monastery, he was deputed to obtain redress for a serious depredation on the property of the brethren. Asking the people of the cloister whether they have a horse serviceable for fight in case of necessity, he is told that there are good strong cart-horses at his disposal. He has these brought out, mounts one and another, and condemns all. He then inquires whether the old steed which he had brought with him is still alive. It is, but very old, and only used to carry corn to the mill. “Let me see him,” says Walter, and, mounting, cries, “Oh, this horse has not forgotten what I taught him in my younger days.” Grimm u. Schmeller, Lateinische Gedichte des X. u. XI. Jahrhunderts, p. 109. See ‘Tom Potts,’ II, 441.[151]

Of the many Hugh Spensers if we select the younger of the favorites of Edward II, his exploits, had they any foundation in reality, would necessarily fall between 1322, when Charles IV came to the French throne, and 1326, when the Spensers, father and son, ended their career. The French king says in #B# 8 that Spenser had sunk his ships and slain his men. Hugh Spenser the younger (both, according to Knyghton, col. 2539, but the father was a very old man) was engaged in piracy in 1321. The quarrel between Edward II and Charles IV, touching the English possessions in France, was temporarily arranged in 1325, but not through the mediation of the younger Spenser, who never was sent on an embassy to France. Another Sir Hugh Spenser was a commander in the Earl of Arundel’s fleet in the operations against the French in Charles VI’s time, 1387, and was taken prisoner in consequence of his ship grounding: Knyghton, col. 2693; Nicolas, History of the Royal Navy, II, 322f. No one of the three queens of Charles IV bore the name of Maude, which is assigned to the French queen in #B#, neither did the queen of Charles VI.

Percy MS., p. 281; Hales and Furnivall, II, 290.

1 The court is kept att leeue London, And euermore shall be itt; The K_ing_ sent for a bold embassador, And S_i_r Hugh Spencer _tha_t he hight.

2 ‘Come hither, Spencer,’ saith our kinge, ‘And come thou hither vnto mee; I must make thee an embassadour Betweene the k_ing_ of Ffrance and mee.

3 ‘Thou must comend me to the k_ing_ of Ffrance, And tell him thus and now ffrom mee, I wold know whether there shold be peace in his land, Or open warr kept still must bee.

4 ‘Thou’st haue thy shipp at thy comande, Thou’st neither want for gold nor ffee; Thou’st haue a hundred armed men, All att thy bidding ffor to bee.’

5 The wind itt serued, and they sayled, And towards Ffrance thus they be gone; The wind did bring them safe to shore, And safelye landed euerye one.

6 The Ffrenchmen lay on the castle-wall, The English souldiers to behold: ‘You are welcome, traitors, out of England; The heads of you are bought and sold.’

7 W_i_th _tha_t spake proud Spencer: My leege, soe itt may not bee; I am sent an embassador Ffrom our English king to yee.

8 The k_ing_ of England greetes you well, And hath sent this word by mee; He wold know whether there shold be peace in yo_u_r land, Or open warres kept still must bee.

9 ‘Comend me to the English kinge, And tell this now ffrom mee; There shall neuer peace be kept in my land While open warres kept there may bee.’

10 W_i_th _tha_t came downe the queene of Ffrance, And an angry woman then was shee; Saies, Itt had beene as ffitt now for a k_ing_ To be in his chamber w_i_th his ladye, Then to be pleading w_i_th traitors out of England, Kneeling low vppon their knee.

11 But then bespake him proud Spencer, For noe man else durst speake but hee: You haue not wiped yo_u_r mouth, madam, Since I heard you tell a lye.

12 ‘O hold thy tounge, Spencer!’ shee said, ‘I doe not come to plead with thee; Darest thou ryde a course of warr W_i_th a knight _tha_t I shall put to thee?’

13 ‘But eu_er_ alacke!’ then Spencer sayd, ‘I thinke I haue deserued Gods cursse; Ffor I haue not any armour heere, Nor yett I haue noe iusting-horsse.’

14 ‘Thy shankes,’ q_uo_th shee, ‘beneath the knee Are verry small aboue the shinne Ffor to doe any such hon_oura_blle deeds As the Englishmen say thou has done.

15 ‘Thy shankes beene small aboue thy shoone, And soe the beene aboue thy knee; Thou art to slender euery way Any good iuster ffor to bee.’

16 ‘But euer alacke,’ said Spencer then, ‘For one steed of the English countrye!’ W_i_th _tha_t bespake and one Ffrench knight, This day thou’st haue the choyce of three.

17 The first steed he ffeiched out, I-wis he was milke-white; The ffirst ffoot Spencer in stirropp sett, His backe did from his belly tyte.

18 The second steed _tha_t he ffeitcht out, I-wis _tha_t hee was verry browne; The second ffoot Spencer in stirropp settt, _Tha_t horsse and man and all ffell downe.

19 The third steed _tha_t hee ffeitched out, I-wis _tha_t he was verry blacke; The third ffoote Spencer into the stirropp sett, He leaped on to the geldings backe.

20 ‘But eu_er_ alacke,’ said Spencer then, ‘For one good steed of the English countrye! Goe ffeitch me hither my old hacneye, _Tha_t I brought w_i_th me hither beyond the sea.’

21 But when his hackney there was brought, Spencer a merry man there was hee; Saies, W_i_th the grace of God and St George of England, The ffeild this day shall goe w_i_th mee.

22 ‘I haue not fforgotten,’ Spencer sayd, ‘Since there was ffeild foughten att Walsingam, When the horsse did heare the trumpetts sound, He did beare ore both horsse and man.’

23 The day was sett, and togetther they mett, W_i_th great mirth and melodye, W_i_th minstrells playing, and trumpetts soundinge, W_i_th drumes striking loud and hye.

24 The ffirst race that Spencer run, I-wis hee run itt wonderous sore; He [hitt] the knight vpon his brest, But his speare itt burst, and wold touch noe more.

25 ‘But euer alacke,’ said Spencer then, ‘For one staffe of the English countrye! W_i_thout you’le bind me three together,’ Q_uo_th hee, ‘they’le be to weake ffor mee.’

26 W_i_th _tha_t bespake him the Ffrench knight, Sayes, Bind him together the whole thirtye, For I haue more strenght in my to hands Then is in all Spencers bodye.

27 ‘But proue att p_ar_ting,’ Spencer sayes, ‘Ffrench knight, here I tell itt thee; For I will lay thee five to four The bigger man I proue to bee.’

28 But the day was sett, and together they mett, W_i_th great mirth and melodye, W_i_th minstrells playing, and trumpetts soundinge, W_i_th drummes strikeing loud and hye.

29 The second race _tha_t Spencer run, I-wis hee ridd itt in much pride, And he hitt the knight vpon the brest, And draue him ore his horsse beside.

30 But he run thorrow the Ffrench campe; Such a race was neu_e_r run beffore; He killed of K_ing_ Charles his men Att hand of thirteen or fourteen score.

31 But he came backe againe to the K[ing], And kneeled him downe vpon his knee; Saies, A knight I haue slaine, and a steed I haue woone, The best _tha_t is in this countrye.

32 ‘But nay, by my faith,’ then said the K_ing_, ‘Spencer, soe itt shall not bee; I’le haue _tha_t traitors head of thine, To enter plea att my iollye.’

33 But Spencer looket him once about, He had true bretheren left but four; He killed ther of the K_ing_s gard About twelve or thirteen score.

34 ‘But hold thy hands,’ the K_ing_ doth say, ‘Spencer, now I doe pray thee; And I will goe into litle England, Vnto _tha_t cruell kinge w_i_th thee.’

35 ‘Nay, by my ffaith,’ Spencer sayd, ‘My leege, for soe itt shall not bee; For an you sett ffoot on English ground, You shall be hanged vpon a tree.’

36 ‘Why then, comend [me] to _tha_t Englishe kinge, And tell him thus now ffrom mee, _Tha_t there shall neu_er_ be open warres kept in my land Whilest peace kept _tha_t there may bee.’

Percy Papers: communicated by the Duchess Dowager of Portland.

1 Our king lay at Westminst_e_r, as oft times he had done, And he sent for Hugh Spencer, to come to him anon.

2 Then in came Hugh Spencer, low kneeling on his knee: ‘What’s the matter, my liege, you sent so speedily for me?’

3 ‘Why you must go ambassadour to France now, to see Whether peace shall be taken, aye, or open wars must be.’

4 ‘Who shall go with me?’ says Hugh Spencer, he: ‘That shall Hugh Willoughby and John of Atherly.’ ‘O then,’ says Hugh Spencer, ‘we’ll be a merry company.’

5 When they came before the French king, they kneeled low on the knee: ‘O rise up, and stand up, whose men soer you be.’

6 The first that made answer was Hugh Spencer, he: ‘We are English ambassad_ou_rs, come hither to see Whether peace shall be taken, aye, or open wars must be.’

7 Then spoke the French king, and he spoke courteously: The last time peace was broken, it was neer along of me.

8 For you sunk my ships, slew my men, and thus did ye; And the last time peace was broken, it was neer along of me.

9 Then in came Queen Maude, and full as ill was she: ‘A chamber of presence is better for thee, Then amongst English shepherds, low bending on the knee.’

10 The first that made answer was Hugh Spencer, he: ‘We are no English shepherds, Queen Maude, I tell thee, But we’re knights, and knights fellows, the worst man in our company.’

11 O then spoke Queen Maude, and full as ill was she: Thou shouldst be Hugh Spencer, thou talkst so boldly.

12 And if thou beest Hugh Spencer, as well thou seemst to be, I’ve oft heard of thy justling, and some of it would fain see.

13 I have a steed in my stable that thou canst not ride; I have a spear in my keeping that thou canst not guide; And I have a knight in my realm that thou darest not abide.

14 Then Spencer askd Willoughby and John of Atherly Whether he should take this justling in hand, aye, or let it be.

15 O then spoke Hugh Willoughby and John of Atherly: If you won’t take it [in] hand, why turn it unto we.

16 ‘It shall neer be said in England,’ says Hugh Spencer, he, ‘That I refused a good justling and turned it to ye.

17 ‘Alas,’ says Hugh Spencer, ‘full sore may I moan, I have nought here but an ambler, my good steed’s at home.’

18 Then spoke a French knight, and he spoke courteously: I have thirty steeds in my stables, the best of them take to thee.

19 ‘Gramercy,’ says Spencer, ‘aye, and gramercy; If eer thou comest to England, well rewarded shalt thou be.’

20 The first steed they brought him, he was a milk-white: ‘Take that away,’ says Spencer, ‘for I do not him like.’

21 The next steed they brought him, he was a good dun: ‘Take that away,’ says Spencer, ‘for he’s not for my turn.’

22 The next steed they brought him, he was a dapple-grey: ‘Take that away,’ says Spencer, ‘for he is not used to the way.’

23 The next steed they brought him, he was a coal-black; His eyes burnt in his head, as if fire were in flax; ‘Come saddle me that horse,’ says Spencer, ‘for I’ll have none but that.’

24 When that horse was saddled, and Spencer got on, With his spear at his foot, O he was portly man!

25 ‘Now I am on that steede-back that I could not ride, That spear in my keeping that I could not guide, Come shew me that French knight that I dare not abide.’

26 ‘It is a sign by thy sharp shin, ay, and thy cropped knee, That you are no fit match to justle with me:’ ‘Why it makes no matter,’ says Spencer, ‘you hear no brags of me.’

27 The first time they rode together, now Sir Hugh and he, He turnd him in his saddle like an apple on a tree.

28 The next time they rode together, now Sir Hugh and he, He lit upon his breast-plate, and he broke his spear in three.

29 ‘A spear now,’ says Spencer, ‘a spear now get me:’ ‘Thou shalt have one,’ says Willoughby, ‘if in France one there be.’

30 ‘O tye two together, and the stronger they’l be, For the French is the better, and the better shall be:’ ‘Why it makes no matter,’ says Spencer, ‘you hear no brags of me.’

31 The next time they rode together, now Sir Hugh and he, He threw him fifteen foot from his saddle, and he broke his back in three: ‘Now I have slain thy justler, Queen Maude, I tell thee.’

32 O then spoke Queen Maude, and full as ill was she: If thou’st slain my justler, by the Kings laws thou’st dye.

33 ‘It shall neer be said in England,’ says Hugh Spencer, he; ‘It shall neer be said in England,’ says Hugh Willoughby;

34 ‘It shall neer be said in England,’ says John of Atherly, ‘That a queen of another nation eer had her will of we.’

35 They laid their heads together, and their backs to the wall; There were four score of the Queen’s guards, and they slew them all.

36 Then spoke the French king, and he spoke courteously: O hold thy hand, Spencer, I dearly pray thee.

37 Thou art sharp as thy spear, and as fierce as thy steed, And the stour of thy lilly-white hand makes my heart bleed.

38 Thou hadst twenty ships hither, thou’st have twenty away; Then hold thy hand, Spencer, I dearly thee pray.

Dr Joseph Robertson’s Journal of Excursions, No 4; taken down from a man in the parish of Leochel, Aberdeenshire, 12 February, 1829.

1 It fell about the Martinmas time The wind blew loud and cauld, And all the knichts of fair Scotland They drew them to sum hald.

2 Unless it was him young Sir Hugh, And he beet to sail the sea, Wi a letter between twa kings, to see an they wald lat down the wars, And live and lat them be.

3 On Friday shipped he, and lang Ere Wodensday at noon In fair France landed he, . . . . . . .

4 He fell down before the King, On his bare knees: ‘Gude mak ye safe and soun;’ ‘Fat news o your contrie?’ he says.

5 ‘The news o our countrie,’ he says, ‘Is but news brought over the sea, To see an ye’ll lat down the wars, And live and lat them be.’

6 ‘Deed no,’ he says; ‘I’m but an auld man indeed, But I’ll no lat down the wars, And live and lat them be.’

7 It’s out it spak the Queen hersel: I have a shepherd’s sin Would fight an hour wi you; ‘And by my seeth,’ says young Sir Hugh, ‘That sight fain would I see.’

8 The firsten steed that he drew out, He was the penny-gray; He wad hae ridden oer meel or mor A leve-lang summer’s day.

9 O girths they brak, and great horse lap, But still sat he on he: ‘A girth, a girth,’ says young Sir Hugh, ‘A girth for charity!’ ‘O every girth that you shall have, Its gude lord shall hae three.’

10 The nexten steed that he drew out, He was the penny-brown; He wad hae ridden oer meel or mor As ever the dew drap down.

11 O bridles brak, and great horse lap, But still sat he on he: ‘A bridle, a bridle,’ says young Sir Hugh, ‘A bridle for charitie!’ ‘O every bridle that you shall have, And its gude lord shall have three.’

12 The nexten steed that he drew out He was the raven-black; His een was glancin in his head Like wild-fire in a slack; ‘Get here a boy,’ says young Sir Hugh, ‘Cast on the saddle on that.’

13 O brands there brak, and great horse lap, But still sat he on he: ‘A brand, a brand,’ says young Sir Hugh, ‘A brand for charitie!’ ‘O every brand that you sall have, And its gude lord sall have three.’

14 He gave him a dep unto the heart, And over the steed fell he: ‘I rather had gane you money,’ she says, ‘And free lands too, That ye had foughten an hour wi him, And than had latten him be.’

15 ‘If ye hae ony mair shepherd’s sins,’ he says, ‘Or cooks i your kitchie, Or ony mair dogs to fell, Ye’ll bring them here to me; And gin they be a true-hearted Scotsman, They’ll no be scorned by thee.’

* * * * *

#A.#

4^3. 100.

5^{1,3}. They.

6^1. walls? There is a tag at the end of this word in the MS. Furnivall.

16^4. of 3.

17^4. MS., tylpe, with the l crossed at top. Furnivall.

18^{1,3}. 2[d .].

18^2. I should read berry-browne were it not for verry blacke in 19^2.

19^{1,3}. 3[d .].

25^3. 3.

26^2. 30^{tye}.

27^3. 5 to 4.

29^1. 2[d .].

30^4. 13 or 14.

32^4. No emendation of this unintelligible line occurs to me.

33^2. 4.

33^3. therof.

33^4. 2 or 3: cf. 30^4, and observe the metre.

35^3. for on: seitt or settt.

And for & always.

#C.#

14^4. too: pronounced tee.

15. The shepherd’s son was the Queen’s own son: comment of the reciter. I do not understand the last two lines; indeed they are obviously corrupt.

159

DURHAM FIELD

‘Durham ffeilde,’ Percy MS., p. 245; Hales and Furnivall, II, 190.

While Edward Third was absent in France, and for the time engaged with the siege of Calais, David Bruce, the young king of Scotland, at the instance of Philip of Valois, but also because he “yearned to see fighting,” invaded England with a large army. Having taken by storm the Border castle of Liddel, he was advised by William of Douglas to turn back, which, it was represented by Douglas, he could do with credit after this success. Other lords said that Douglas had filled his bags, but theirs were toom, and that the way lay open to London, for there were no men left in England but souters, skinners, and traders.[152] The Scots moved on to Durham, and encamped in a park not far from the town, in a bad position. In the mean while a powerful force had been collected by the northern nobility and the English churchmen, without the knowledge of the Scots. William of Douglas, going out to forage, rode straight to the ground where his foes lay, and in the attempt to retreat lost five hundred of his men. King David drew up his army in three divisions: one under his own command, another under the Earl of Murray and William Douglas, the third under the Steward of Scotland and the Earl of March. The operations of the Scots were impeded by the ditches and fences that traversed the ground on which they stood, and their situation made them an almost helpless mark for the ten thousand archers of the English army. Murray’s men were completely routed by a charge of cavalry, and their leader killed. The English then fell upon the King’s division, which, after a desperate fight, was “vanquished utterly.” David, who had received two wounds from arrows, was taken prisoner by John Copland, “by force, not yolden,” after knocking out two of the Englishman’s teeth with a knife. Wyntoun’s Chronykil, ed. Laing, II, 470 ff; Scotichronicon, ed. Goodall, II, 339 ff. The battle was fought on the 17th of October, 1346.

According to the English chronicle of Lanercost, John of Douglas, ‘germanus domini Willelmi,’ fought with the Earl of Murray in the first Scottish division, and the Earl of Buchan was associated with King David in the command of the second. The English were also in three bodies. The leaders of the first were the Earl of Angus, ‘inter omnes Angliæ nobilis persona,’ Henry Percy, Ralph Neville, and Henry Scrope; the Archbishop of York led the second; Mowbray, Rokeby, and John of Copland were in the third. Ed. Stevenson, pp. 349–51.

David, in the ballad, proposes to himself nothing less than the conquest of England and the distribution of the territory among his chief men. He is not a youth of twenty-two; William Douglas has served him four and thirty years. Still he will brook no advice, and kills his own squire for warning him of the danger of his enterprise. The Earl of Angus is to lead the van; but Angus, as we have seen, was engaged on the other side. The title of Angus might have deceived the minstrel, but it was hardly to be expected that Neville should be turned into a Scot as he is in st. 17. Angus, and also ‘Vaughan,’ that is Baughan, or Buchan,[153] are to be in the king’s coat-armor, sts 11, 13, imitating Blunt and the rest at Shrewsbury, and the five false Richmonds at Bosworth. James[154] Douglas offers to lead the van, 14; so does William Douglas in 21. An Englishman who does not know a Neville would surely not be very precise about a Douglas, and it must be conceded that the Douglases have not always been kept perfectly distinct by historians. James Douglas, whoever he may be supposed to be, “went before;” that is, he plays the part which belongs historically to the Knight of Liddesdale, loses all his men, and returns, with an arrow in his thigh, to report that one Englishman is worth five Scots: 26–33.[155] But the Scots, even at that rate, have the advantage, for a herald, sent out to reconnoitre, tells their king that they are ten to one.

The commanders on the English side are the Bishop of Durham, Earl Percy, the Archbishop of York, the Bishop of Carlisle, and “Lord Fluwilliams.”[156] The Bishop of Durham orders that no man shall fight before he has ‘served his God,’ and five hundred priests say mass in the field who afterwards take part in the fray. (The monks of Durham, Knyghton tells us, had made terms with the Scots, and were to pay a thousand pounds for ransom-money the next day; and so, when they saw the Scots yielding, they raised their voices in a Te Deum, which sounded to the clouds and quickened the courage of the English.) The king of Scots is wounded by an arrow through his nose, and, stepping aside to bleed, is taken prisoner by John of Copland, whom he first smites angrily. Copland sets the king on a palfrey and leads him to London. King Edward, newly arrived from France, asks him how he likes the shepherds, millers, and priests. There’s not a yeoman in England, says David, but he is worth a Scottish knight. Aye, says King Edward, laughing, that is because you were fighting against the right. Shortly after this the Black Prince brings the king of France captive from the field of Poitiers. Says David to John, Welcome, brother, but I would I had gone to Rome! And I, would I had gone to Jerusalem! replies John. Thus ends the battle of Durham, fought, says the minstrel, on a morning of May, sts 27, 64, and within the same month as the battles of Crécy and Poitiers.[157] Though Poitiers was fought ten years after Durham, the king of Scots and the king of France no doubt met in London, for John was taken thither in April, 1357, and David was not released from his captivity until the following November.

Stanza 18 affords us an upper limit for a date. Lord Hambleton is said to be of the king’s kin full nigh. James Hamilton, the first lord, married the princess Mary, sister of James III, in 1474, and his descendants were the next heirs to the throne after the Stewarts, whose line was for a time but barely kept up.

1 Lordinges, listen, and hold you still; Hearken to me a litle; I shall you tell of the fairest battell _Tha_t eu_er_ in England beffell.

2 For as it befell in Edward the Thirds dayes, In England, where he ware the crowne, Then all the cheefe chiualry of England They busked and made them bowne.

3 They chosen all the best archers _Tha_t in England might be found, And all was to fight w_i_th the k_ing_ of Ffrance, W_i_thin a litle stounde.

4 And when our k_ing_ was ou_er_ the water, And on the salt sea gone, Then tydings into Scotland came _Tha_t all England was gone.

5 Bowes and arrowes they were all forth, At home was not left a man But shepards and millers both, And preists w_i_th shauen crownes.

6 Then the k_ing_ of Scotts in a study stood, As he was a man of great might; He sware he wold hold his parlam_ent_ in leeue London, If he cold ryde there right.

7 Then bespake a squ_ier_, of Scottland borne, And sayd, My leege, apace, Before you come to leeue London, Full sore you’le rue _tha_t race.

8 Ther beene bold yeomen in merry England, Husbandmen stiffe and strong; Sharpe swords they done weare, Bearen bowes and arrowes longe.

9 The K_ing_ was angrye at that word; A long sword out hee drew, And there befor his royall companye His owne squier hee slew.

10 Hard hansell had the Scottes _tha_t day, _Tha_t wrought them woe enoughe, For then durst not a Scott speake a word Ffor hanging att a boughe.

11 ‘The Earle of Anguish, where art thou? In my coate-armor thou shalt bee, And thou shalt lead the forward Thorrow the English countrye.

12 ‘Take thee Yorke,’ then sayd the K_ing_, ‘In stead wheras it doth stand; I’le make thy eldest sonne after thee Heyre of all Northumberland.

13 ‘The Earle of Vaughan, where be yee? In my coate-armor thou shalt bee; The high Peak and Derbyshire I giue it thee to thy fee.’

14 Then came in famous Douglas, Saies, What shall my meede bee? And I’le lead the vawward, lord, Thorow the English countrye.

15 ‘Take thee Worster,’ sayd the K_ing_, ‘Tuxburye, Killingworth, Burton vpon Trent; Doe thou not say another day But I haue giuen thee lands and rent.

16 ‘S_i_r Rich_ard_ of Edenborrow, where are yee? A wise man in this warr! I’le giue thee Bristow and the shire The time _tha_t wee come there.

17 ‘My lo_rd_ Nevill, where beene yee? You must in this warres bee; I’le giue thee Shrewsburye,’ saies the K_ing_, ‘And Couentrye faire and free.

18 ‘My lo_rd_ of Hambleton, where art thou? Thou art of my kin full nye; I’le giue thee Lincolne and Lincolneshire, And _tha_t’s enouge for thee.’

19 By then came in W_illia_m Douglas, As breeme as any bore; He kneeled him downe vpon his knees, In his hart he sighed sore.

20 Saies, I haue serued you, my louelye leege, This thirty winters and four, And in the Marches betweene England and Scottland I haue beene wounded and beaten sore.

21 For all the good service _tha_t I haue done, What shall my meed bee? And I will lead the vanward Thorrow the English countrye.

22 ‘Aske on, Douglas,’ said the king, ‘And granted it shall bee:’ ‘Why then, I aske litle London,’ saies Will_iam_ Douglas, ‘Gotten giff _tha_t it bee.’

23 The K_ing_ was wrath, and rose away, Saies, Nay, _tha_t cannot bee! For _tha_t I will keepe for my cheefe chamber, Gotten if it bee.

24 But take thee North Wales and Weschaster, The cuntrye all round about, And rewarded thou shalt bee, Of _tha_t take thou noe doubt.

25 Fiue score k_nigh_ts he made on a day, And dubbd them with his hands; Rewarded them right worthilye W_i_th the townes in merry England.

26 And when the fresh k_nigh_ts they were made, To battell the buske them bowne; Iames Douglas went before, And he thought to haue wonnen him shoone.

27 But the were mett in a morning of May W_i_th the com_m_inaltye of litle England; But there scaped neu_er_ a man away, Through the might of Christës hand.

28 But all onely Iames Douglas; In Durham in the ffeild An arrow stroke him in the thye; Fast flinge[s he] towards the K_ing_.

29 The K_ing_ looked toward litle Durham, Saies, All things is not well! For Iames Dowglas beares an arrow in his thye, The head of it is of steele.

30 ‘How now Iames?’ then said the K_ing_, ‘How now, how may this bee? And where beene all thy merrymen That thou tooke hence with thee?’

31 ‘But cease, my k_ing_,’ saies Iames Douglas, ‘Aliue is not left a man!’ ‘Now by my faith,’ saies the k_ing_ of Scottes, ‘_Tha_t gate was euill gone.

32 ‘But I’le reuenge thy quarrell well, And of _tha_t thou may be faine; For one Scott will beate fiue Englishmen, If the meeten them on the plaine.’

33 ‘Now hold yo_u_r tounge,’ saies Iames Douglas, ‘For in faith _tha_t is not soe; For one English man is worth fiue Scotts, When they meeten together thoe.

34 ‘For they are as egar men to fight As a faulcon vpon a pray; Alas! if eu_er_ the winne the vanward, There scapes noe man away.’

35 ‘O peace thy talking,’ said the K_ing_, ‘They bee but English knaues, But shepards and millers both, And preists w_i_th their staues.’

36 The K_ing_ sent forth one of his heralds of armes To vew the Englishmen: ‘Be of good cheere,’ the herald said, ‘For against one wee bee ten.’

37 ‘Who leades those ladds?’ said the k_ing_ of Scottes, ‘Thou herald, tell thou mee:’ The herald said, The Bishopp of Durham Is captaine of _tha_t companye.

38 ‘For the Bishopp hath spred the K_ing_‘s banner, And to battell he buskes him bowne:’ ‘I sweare by St. Andrewes bones,’ saies the K_ing_, ‘I’le rapp _tha_t preist on the crowne.’

39 The K_ing_ looked towards litle Durham, And _tha_t hee well beheld, _Tha_t the Earle Percy was well armed, W_i_th his battell-axe entred the feild.

40 The K_ing_ looket againe towards litle Durham, Four ancyents there see hee; There were to standards, six in a valley, He cold not see them w_i_th his eye.

41 My Lord of Yorke was one of them, My Lord of Carlile was the other, And my Lord Ffluwilliams, The one came w_i_th the other.

42 The Bishopp of Durham com_m_anded his men, And shortlye he them bade, _Tha_t neu_er_ a man shold goe to the feild to fight Till he had serued his God.

43 Fiue hundred preists said masse _tha_t day In Durham in the feild, And afterwards, as I hard say, They bare both speare and sheeld.

44 The Bishopp of Durham orders himselfe to fight, W_i_th his battell-axe in his hand; He said, This day now I will fight As long as I can stand!

45 ‘And soe will I,’ sayd my Lo_rd_ of Carlile, ‘In this faire morning gay;’ ‘And soe will I,’ said my Lo_rd_ Ffluwilliams, ‘For Mary, _tha_t myld may.’

46 Our English archers bent their bowes. Shortlye and anon; They shott ou_er_ the Scottish oast And scantlye toucht a man.

47 ‘Hold downe yo_u_r hands,’ sayd the Bishopp of Durham, ‘My archers good and true:’ The second shoote _tha_t the shott, Full sore the Scottes itt rue.

48 The Bishopp of Durham spoke on hye, _Tha_t both p_ar_tyes might heare: ‘Be of good cheere, my merrymen all, The Scotts flyen, and changen there cheere.’

49 But as the saidden, soe the didden, They fell on heapës hye; Our Englishmen laid on w_i_th their bowes, As fast as they might dree.

50 The k_ing_ of Scotts in a studye stood Amongst his companye; An arrow stoke him thorrow the nose, And thorrow his armorye.

51 The K_ing_ went to a marsh-side And light beside his steede; He leaned him downe on his sword-hilts, To let his nose bleede.

52 There followed him a yeaman of merry England, His name was Iohn of Coplande: ‘Yeeld thee, traytor!’ saies Coplande then, ‘Thy liffe lyes in my hand.’

53 ‘How shold I yeeld me,’ sayes the K_ing_, ‘And thou art noe gentleman?’ ‘Noe, by my troth,’ sayes Copland there, ‘I am but a poore yeaman.

54 ‘What art thou better then I, S_i_r K_ing_? Tell me if that thou can! What art thou better then I, S_i_r K_ing_, Now we be but man to man?’

55 The K_ing_ smote angerly at Copland then, Angerly in that stonde; And then Copland was a bold yeaman, And bore the K_ing_ to the ground.

56 He sett the K_ing_ upon a palfrey, Himselfe upon a steede; He tooke him by the bridle-rayne, Towards London he can him lead.

57 And when to London _tha_t he came, The K_ing_ from Ffrance was new come home, And there unto the k_ing_ of Scottes He sayd these words anon.

58 ‘How like you my shepards and my millers? My priests w_i_th shaven crownes?’ ‘By my fayth, they are the sorest fighting men _Tha_t ev_e_r I mett on the ground.

59 ‘There was never a yeaman in merry England But he was worth a Scottish k_nigh_t:’ ‘I, by my troth,’ said K_ing_ Edward, and laughe, ‘For you fought all against the right.’

60 But now the prince of merry England, Worthilye under his sheelde, Hath taken the k_ing_ of Ffrance, At Poytiers in the ffeelde.

61 The prince did p_re_sent his father w_i_th _tha_t food, The louely k_ing_ off Ffrance, And fforward of his iourney he is gone: God send us all good chance!

62 ‘You are welcome, broth_er_!’ sayd the k_ing_ of Scotts, to _th_e k_ing_ of Ffrance, ‘For I am come hither to soone; Christ leeve _tha_t I had taken my way Unto the court of Roome!’

63 ‘And soe wold I,’ said the k_ing_ of Ffrance, ‘When I came over the streame, _Tha_t I had taken my iourney Unto Ierusalem!’

64 Thus ends the battell of ffaire Durham, In one morning of May, The battell of Cressey, and _th_e battle of Potyers, All within one monthës day.

65 Then was welthe and welfare in mery England, Solaces, game, and glee, And every man loved other well, And the K_ing_ loved good yeomanrye.

66 But God _tha_t made the grasse to growe, And leaves on greenwoode tree, Now save and keepe our noble k_ing_, And maintaine good yeomanry!

* * * * *

And for & throughout.

1^1. Perhaps lesten: yo.

1^2. a litle spell?

2^1. 3^{ds}.

8^3. sharpes.

11^3. forward has a tag to the #d#. Furnivall.

12^1. thy for thee.

13^1. in Earle the l is made over an e. Furnivall.

15^2. Tuxburye doubtful in the MS.

20^2. 30: 4.

25^1. 5 score.

31^1. Janes.

32^3, 33^3. 5.

After 39. 2d part.

40^2. 4.

40^3. 6.

43^1. 500.

44^1. Durhan.

47^3. 2d.

62^1. brothers.

66. Pencil note in Percy’s late hand.

This and 2 following leaves being unfortunately torn out, in sending the subsequent piece [‘King Estmere’] to the press, the conclusion of the preceding ballad has been carefully transcribed; and indeed the fragments of the other leaves ought to have been so.

160

THE KNIGHT OF LIDDESDALE

Hume of Godscroft, History of the Houses of Douglas and Angus, 1644, p. 77.

William Douglas, the Knight of Liddesdale, who figures in the foregoing ballad, was assassinated in 1353, while hunting in Ettrick forest, by his kinsman and godson, Lord William Douglas.

According to the Scotichronicon, the motive was said to be revenge for Alexander Ramsay, one of the first men among the Scots, whom Liddesdale had assaulted while he was holding a court, wounded, carried off, and suffered to die by starving; and for Sir David Berkeley, whom Liddesdale was charged with procuring to be murdered in 1350, in return for the death of his brother, Sir John Douglas, brought to pass by Berkeley. (Scotichronicon, ed. Goodall, II, 348, 335, XIV, 8, XIII, 50, XIV, 7.)

Hume of Godscroft considers the motive assigned to be quite unnatural, and at best a pretence. A ballad known to him gave a different account. “The Lord of Liddesdale, being at his pastime, hunting in Attrick forest, is beset by William Earle of Douglas, and such as hee had ordained for that purpose, and there assailed, wounded, and slain, beside Galsewood, in the yeare 1353; upon a jealousie that the Earle had conceived of him with his lady, as the report goeth, for so sayes the old song.” After citing the stanza which follows, Hume goes on to say: “The song also declareth how shee did write her love-letters to Liddisdale, to disswade him from that hunting. It tells likewise the manner of the taking of his men, and his owne killing at Galsewood, and how hee was carried the first night to Lindin Kirk, a mile from Selkirk, and was buried within the Abbacie of Melrosse.”

“The sole basis for this statement of Hume’s,” says Sir William Fraser, The Douglas Book, I, 223 f, 1885, “seems to be the anonymous Border ballad, part of which he quotes, to which he adds the tradition that the lady wrote to her lover to dissuade him from that hunting. Apart from the fact that this tradition is opposed to contemporary history, which states that Sir William was wholly unsuspicious of danger, the story told by Godscroft is otherwise erroneous. He assumes that Douglas was made earl in 1346, and that he was married to a daughter of the Earl of March, neither of which assumptions is true. Douglas was not created earl until 26th January, 1357–8, and there was therefore no ‘Countess of Douglas’ to wait for the Knight of Liddesdale. Douglas’s only wife was Lady Margaret of Mar, who survived him. The exact date of their marriage has not been ascertained, but it is certain that Douglas had no countess of the family of March in 1353, while it is doubtful if at that date he was married at all. Popular tradition is therefore at fault in assigning matrimonial jealousy as a motive for killing the Knight of Liddesdale.”

“Some fragments of this ballad are still current, and will be found in the ensuing work,” says Scott, Minstrelsy, I, 221, note, ed. 1833. It may be that Sir Walter became convinced that these fragments were not genuine; at any rate, they do not appear in his collection.

The Countesse of Douglas out of her boure she came, And loudly there that she did call: ‘It is for the Lord of Liddesdale That I let all these teares downe fall.’

161

THE BATTLE OF OTTERBURN

#A. a.# Cotton MS. Cleopatra, C. iv, leaf 24, of about 1550. #b.# Harleian MS. 293, leaf 52. Both in the British Museum.

#B. a.# Herd’s MSS, I, 149, II, 30; Herd’s Scottish Songs, 1776, I, 153. #b.# Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, 1802, I, 31.

#C.# Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, 1833, I, 354.

#D.# Finlay’s Scottish Ballads, I, xviii f., two stanzas.

#E.# Motherwell’s Minstrelsy, p. lxxi, note 30, one stanza.

#A a# was first printed in the fourth edition of Percy’s Reliques, 1794, I, 18, and #A b# in the first edition, 1765, I, 18.

By far the most circumstantial account of the battle of Otterburn is given by Froissart (Chroniques, Buchon, XI, 362 ff, chap. 115 ff), and his highly felicitous narrative may be briefly summarized as follows.

The quarrels of Richard II with his uncles and a consequent feud between the great northern families of Neville and Percy furnished the Scots an inviting opportunity for an invasion of England on a large scale. Under the pretext of a festive meeting, a preliminary conference of barons and knights was held at Aberdeen, and it was there agreed that they should muster, the middle of August, 1388, at a place on the border near Jedburgh, with such forces as they could command. In all this they took no counsel with the king, who was then past seventy, and was regarded as of no account for their purposes. The result was a larger gathering than had been seen for sixty years, quite twelve hundred lances and forty thousand ordinary fighting-men.

The Earl of Northumberland and his sons, the Seneschal of York, and the Captain of Berwick had heard of the intended meeting at Aberdeen, and had sent heralds and minstrels thither, to get further information. These agents reported that all Scotland was astir, and that there was to be another parley in the forest of Jedburgh. The barons and knights of Northumberland made due preparations, and, the better to keep these secret, remained quiet in their houses, ready to sally as soon as they learned that the Scots were in motion. Feeling themselves incapable of coping with so large a body as had been collected, they decided upon a simultaneous counter-raid, and that from the east or from the west, according as the enemy should take the road from the west or the east. Of this plan of the English the Scots obtained knowledge from a spy whom they had captured, and to foil it they divided their army, directing the main body towards Carlisle, under command of Archibald Douglas, of the Earl of Fife, son of the king, and many other nobles, while a detachment of three or four hundred picked men-at-arms, supported by two thousand stout fellows, partly archers, all well mounted,[158] and commanded by James, Earl of Douglas, the Earl of March and Dunbar, and the Earl of Murray, were to strike for Newcastle, cross the river, and burn and ravage the bishopric of Durham.

The eastern division (with which alone we are concerned) carried out their program to the letter. They advanced at speed, stopping for nothing, and meeting with no resistance, and the burning and pillaging had begun in Durham before the Earl of Northumberland knew of their arrival. Fire and smoke soon showed what was going on. The earl dispatched his sons Henry and Ralph Percy to Newcastle, where the whole country rallied, gentle and simple; he himself remaining at Alnwick, in the hope of being able to enclose the Scots, when they should take the way north, between two bodies of English. The Scots attained to the very gates of Durham; then, having burned every unfortified town between there and Newcastle, they turned northward, with a large booty, repassed the Tyne, and halted at Newcastle. There was skirmishing for two days before the city, and in the course of a long combat between Douglas and Henry Percy the Scot got possession of the Englishman’s pennon. This he told Percy he would raise on the highest point of his castle at Dalkeith; Percy answered that he should never accomplish that vaunt, nor should he carry the pennon out of Northumberland. ‘Come then to-night and win it back,’ said Douglas; ‘I will plant it before my tent.’ It was then late, and the fighting ceased; but the Scots kept good guard, looking for Percy to come that very night for his pennon. Percy, however, was constrained to let that night pass.

The Scots broke up their camp early the next morning and withdrew homewards. Taking and burning the tower and town of Ponteland on their way, they moved on to Otterburn, thirty miles northwest from Newcastle, where there was a strong castle or tower, in marshy ground, which they assailed for a day without success. At the end of the day they held a council, and the greater part were in favor of making for Carlisle in the morning, to rejoin their countrymen. But the Earl of Douglas would not hear of this; Henry Percy had said that he would challenge his pennon; they would stay two or three days more and assault the castle, and see if Percy would be as good as his word. So the Scots encamped at their ease, making themselves huts of trees, and availing themselves of the marshes to fortify their position. At the entrance of the marshes, which was on the Newcastle road, they put their servants and foragers, and they drove their cattle into the bogs.

Henry Percy was greatly vexed and mortified at the loss of his pennon, and in the evening he represented to the knights and squires of Northumberland how much it concerned his honor to make good what he had said to Douglas, that the pennon should never be carried out of England. But these gentlemen were all convinced that Douglas was backed by the whole power of Scotland, of which they had seen only the van, by forty thousand men who could handle them at their will; at any rate, it was better to lose a pennon than two or three hundred knights and squires, and expose the country to risk. As for the loss of the pennon, it was one of the chances of arms; Douglas had won it handsomely; another time Percy would get as much from him, or more.[159] To this the Percys were fain to yield. Later there came scouts with information that Douglas was encamped at Otterburn, that the main army was not acting in conjunction with him, and that his forces, all told, did not exceed three thousand. Henry Percy was overjoyed at the news, and cried, To horse! by the faith I owe to God and my father, I will go seek my pennon, and the Scots shall be ousted before this night is over. The evening of that same day the Bishop of Durham was expected to arrive with a great many men, but Henry Percy would not wait. Six hundred lances and eight thousand foot were enough, he said, to serve the Scots, who had but three hundred lances and two thousand other folk. The English set forth as soon as they could get together, by the road which the Scots had taken, but were not able to move very fast by reason of their infantry.

Some of the Scots knights were supping, and more were asleep (for they had had hard work at the assault on the tower, and were meaning to be up betimes to renew the attack), when the English were upon the camp, crying, Percy! Percy! There was naturally great alarm. The English made their attack at that part of the camp where, as before said, the servants and foragers were lodged. This was, however, strong, and the knights sent some of their men to hold it while they themselves were arming. Then the Scots formed, each under his own earl and captain. It was night, but the weather was fair and the moon shining. The Scots did not go straight for the English, but took their way along by the marshes and by a hill, according to a plan which they had previously arranged against the case that their camp should be attacked. The English made short work with the underlings, but, as they advanced, always found fresh people to keep up a skirmish. And now the Scots, having executed a flank movement, fell upon their assailants in a mass, from a quarter where nothing was looked for, shouting their battle-cries with one voice. The English were astounded, but closed up, and gave them Percy! for Douglas! Then began a fell battle. The English, being in excess and eager to win, beat back the Scots, who were at the point of being worsted. James Douglas, who was young, strong, and keen for glory, sent his banner to the front, with the cry, Douglas! Douglas! Henry and Ralph Percy, indignant against the earl for the loss of the pennon, turned in the direction of the cry, responding, Percy! Knights and squires had no thought but to fight as long as spears and axes would hold out. It was a hand-to-hand fight; the parties were so close together that the archers of neither could operate; neither side budged, but both stood firm. The Scots showed extraordinary valor, for the English were three to one; but be this said without disparagement of the English, who have always done their duty.

As has been said, the English were so strong that they were forcing their foes back, and this James Douglas saw. To regain the ground, he took a two-handed axe, plunged into the thickest, and opened a path before him; for there was none so well armed in helmet or plate as not to fear his strokes. So he made his way till he was hit by three spears, all at once, one in the shoulder, another in the chest, another in the thigh, and borne to the ground. The English did not know that it was Earl Douglas that had fallen; they would have been so much elated that the day would have been theirs. Neither did the Scots; if they had, they would have given up in despair. Douglas could not raise himself from the ground, for he was wounded to the death. The crush about him was great, but his people had kept as close to him as they could. His cousin, Sir James Lindsay, reached the spot where he was lying, and with Lindsay Sir John and Sir Walter Sinclair, and other knights and squires. Near him, and severely wounded, they found his chaplain, William of North Berwick, who had kept up with his master the whole night, axe in hand; also Sir Robert Hart, with five wounds from lances and other weapons. Sir John Sinclair asked the earl, Cousin, how fares it with you? ‘Indifferently,’ said the earl; ‘praised be God, few of my ancestors have died in their beds. Avenge me, for I count myself dead. Walter and John Sinclair, up with my banner, and cry, Douglas! and let neither friend nor foe know of my state.’ The two Sinclairs and Sir John Lindsay did as they were bidden, raised the banner, and shouted, Douglas! They were far to the front, but others, who were behind, hearing the shout loudly repeated, charged the English with such valor as to drive them beyond the place where Douglas now lay dead, and came up with the banner which Sir John Lindsay was bearing, begirt and supported by good Scots knights and squires. The Earl of Murray came up too, and the Earl of March and Dunbar as well, and they all, as it were, took new life when they saw that they were together and that the English were giving ground. Once more was the combat renewed. The English had the disadvantage of the fatigue of a rapid march from Newcastle, by reason whereof their will was better than their wind, whereas the Scots were fresh; and the effects appeared in this last charge, in which the Scots drove the English so far back that they could not recover their lost ground. Sir Ralph Percy had already been taken prisoner. Like Douglas, he had advanced so far as to be surrounded, and being so badly wounded that his hose and boots were full of blood, he surrendered to Sir John Maxwell. Henry Percy, after a valorous fight with the Lord Montgomery, became prisoner to the Scottish knight.

It was a hard battle and well fought, but such are the turns of fortune that, although the English were the greater number, and all bold men and practised in arms, and although they attacked the enemy valiantly, and at first drove them back a good distance, the Scots in the end won the day. The losses of the English were put by their antagonists at 1040 prisoners, 1860 killed in the fight and the pursuit, and more than 1000 wounded; those of the Scots were about 100 killed and 200 captured.[160] The Scots retired without molestation, taking the way to Melrose Abbey, where they caused the Earl of Douglas to be interred, and his obsequies to be reverently performed. Over his body a tomb of stone was built, and above this was raised the earl’s banner.

Such is the story of the battle of Otterburn, fought on Wednesday, the 19th day of August,[161] in the year of grace 1388, as related by Froissart (with animated tributes to the hardihood and generosity of both parties) upon the authority of knights and squires actually present, both English and Scots, and also French.

Wyntoun, ix, 840–54, 900f (Laing, III, 36f) says that the alarm was given the Scots by a young man that came right fast riding (cf. #A# 20, 21, #B# 4, #C# 17), and that many of the Scots were able to arm but imperfectly; among these Earl James, who was occupied with getting his men into order and was “reckless of his arming,” and the Earl of Murray, who forgot his basnet (cf. #C# 20). Earl James was slain no man knew in what way. Bower, Scotichronicon, II, 405, agrees with Wyntoun. English chroniclers, Knyghton, col. 2728, Walsingham (Riley, II, 176[162]), Malverne, the continuator of Higden (Polychronicon, Lumby, IX, 185), assert that Percy killed Douglas with his own hand, Knyghton adding that Percy also wounded the Earl of Murray to the point of death.

That a Scots ballad of Otterburn was popular in the sixteenth century appears from The Complaynte of Scotlande, 1549, where a line is cited, The Perssee and the Mongumrye met, p. 65, ed. Murray: cf. #B# 9^1, #C# 30^1.[163] In the following century Hume of Godscroft writes:[164] The Scots song made of Otterburn telleth the time, about Lammasse, and the occasion, to take preyes out of England; also the dividing of the armies betwixt the Earles of Fife and Douglas, and their severall journeys, almost as in the authentick history. It beginneth thus:

It fell about the Lammas tide, When yeomen wonne their hay, The doughtie Douglas gan to ride, In England to take a prey.

Motherwell maintains that the ballad which passes as English is the Scots song altered to please the other party. His argument, however, is far from conclusive. “That The Battle of Otterbourne was thus dealt with by an English transcriber appears obvious, for it studiously omits dilating on Percy’s capture, while it accurately details his combat with Douglas;” that is to say, the ballad as we have it is just what a real English ballad would have been, both as to what it enlarges on and what it slights. “Whereas it would appear that in the genuine Scottish version the capture of Percy formed a prominent incident, seeing it is the one by which the author of The Complaynt refers to the ballad [The Perssee and the Mongumrye met]:” from which Motherwell was at liberty to deduce that #B# and #C# represent the genuine Scottish version, several stanzas being given to the capture of Percy in these; but this he would not care to do, on account of the great inferiority of these forms. A Scotsman could alter an English ballad “to suit political feeling and flatter national vanity,” as Motherwell says the Scots did with Chevy Chace. (See further on, p. 303.) There is no reason to doubt that a Scots ballad of Otterburn once existed, much better than the two inferior, and partly suspicious, things which were printed by Herd and Scott, and none to doubt that an English minstrel would deal freely with any Scots ballad which he could turn to his purpose; but then there is no evidence, positive or probable, that this particular ballad was “adapted” from the Scots song made of Otterburn; rather are we to infer that the few verses of #B# and #C# which repeat or resemble the text of #A# were borrowed from #A#, and, as likely as not, Hume’s first stanza too.[165]

#A#, in the shape in which it has come down to us, must have a date long subsequent to the battle, as the grammatical forms show; still, what interested the borderers a hundred years or more after the event must have interested people of the time still more, and it would be against the nature of things that there should not have been a ballad as early as 1400. The ballad we have is likely to have been modernized from such a predecessor, but I am not aware that there is anything in the text to confirm such a supposition, unless one be pleased to make much of the Wednesday of the eighteenth stanza. The concluding stanza implies that Percy is dead, and he was killed at Shrewsbury, in 1403.

#A.# 3. Hoppertope hyll, says Percy, is a corruption for Ottercap Hill (now Ottercaps Hill) in the parish of Kirk Whelpington, Tynedale Ward, Northumberland. Rodclyffe Cragge (now Rothley Crags) is a cliff near Rodeley, a small village in the parish of Hartburn, in Morpeth Ward, south-east of Ottercap; and Green Leyton, corruptly Green Lynton, is another small village, south-east of Rodeley, in the same parish. Reliques, 1794, I, 22.

8. Henry Percy seems to have been in his twenty-third year. As for his having been a march-man “all his days,” he is said to have begun fighting ten years before, in 1378, and to have been appointed Governor of Berwick and Warden of the Marches in 1385: White, History of the Battle of Otterburn, p. 67 f. Walsingham calls both Percy and Douglas young men, and Froissart speaks at least twice of Douglas as young. Fraser, The Douglas Book, 1885, I, 292, says that Douglas was probably born in 1358. White, as above, p. 91, would make him somewhat older.

17. The chivalrous trait in this stanza, and that in the characteristic passage 36–44, are peculiar to this transcendently heroic ballad.

26, 27. The earldom of Menteith at the time of this battle, says Percy, following Douglas’s Peerage, was possessed by Robert Stewart, Earl of Fife, third son of King Robert II; but the Earl of Fife was in command of the main body and not present. (As Douglas married a daughter of King Robert II, the Earl of Fife was not his uncle, but his brother-in-law.) The mention of Huntley, says Percy, shows that the ballad was not composed before 1449; for in that year Alexander, Lord of Gordon and Huntley, was created Earl of Huntley by King James II. The Earl of Buchan at that time was Alexander Stewart, fourth son of the king. Reliques, 1794, I, 36.

35^2. ‘The cronykle will not layne.’ So in ‘The Rose of England,’ No 166, st. 22^4, ‘The cronickles of this will not lye,’ and also 17^2; and in ‘Flodden Field,’ appendix, p. 360, st. 121^4.

43, 49. It will be remembered that the archers had no part in this fight.

45, 46. “The ancient arms of Douglas are pretty accurately emblazoned in the former stanza, and if the readings were, The crowned harte, and, Above stode starres thre, it would be minutely exact at this day. As for the Percy family, one of their ancient badges or cognizances was a white lyon statant, and the silver crescent continues to be used by them to this day. They also give three luces argent for one of their quarters.” Percy, as above, p. 30.

48. So far as I know, St George does not appear as Our Lady’s knight in any legendary, though he is so denominated or described elsewhere in popular tradition. So in the spell for night-mare, which would naturally be of considerable antiquity,

S. George, S. George, Our Ladies knight, He walkt by day, so did he by night, etc.:

Reginald Scot, The Discoverie of Witchcraft, 1584, as reprinted by Nicholson, p. 68, ed. 1665, p. 48; and Fletcher’s Monsieur Thomas, iv. 6, Dyce, VII, 388. In Nicholas Udall’s ‘Roister Doister,’ known to be as old as 1551, Matthew Merrygreek exclaims, “What then? sainct George to borow, Our Ladie’s knight!” Ed. W. D. Cooper, p. 77, Shakespeare Society, 1847. The Danish ballad of St George, ‘St Jørgen og Dragen,’ Grundtvig, No 103, II, 559 ff, the oldest version of which is from a 16th century MS., begins, “Knight St George, thou art my man” (svend); and in the second version, George, declining the princess whom he has rescued, says he has vowed to Mary to be her servant.[166] In the corresponding Swedish ballad, of the same age as the Danish, George is called Mary’s knight (Maria honom riddare gjorde, st. 2): Geijer and Afzelius, ed. Bergström, II, 402. This is also his relation in German ballads: Meinert, p. 254; Ditfurth, I, 55, No 68.[167]

#B.# 1, 9, 14 nearly resemble #A# 1, 50, 68, and must have the same origin. In #B# 9 Douglas is changed to Montgomery; in 14 Douglas is wrongly said to have been buried on the field, instead of at Melrose Abbey, where his tomb is still to be seen.

7 is founded upon a tradition reported by Hume of Godscroft: “There are that say that he was not slain by the enemy, but by one of his owne men, a groome of his chamber, whom he had struck the day before with a truncheon in the ordering of the battell, because hee saw him make somewhat slowly to; and they name this man John Bickerton of Luffenesse, who left a part of his armour behinde unfastned, and when hee was in the greatest conflict, this servant of his came behinde his back and slew him thereat.” Ed. 1644, p. 105.

11. The summons to surrender to a braken-bush is not in the style of fighting-men or fighting-days, and would justify Hotspur’s contempt of metre-ballad-mongers.

12, 13. #B# agrees with Froissart in making a Montgomery to be the captor of Henry Percy, whereas #A# represents that Montgomery was taken prisoner and exchanged for Percy. In The Hunting of the Cheviot Sir Hugh Montgomery kills Percy, and in return is shot by a Northumberland archer.

#C.# Scott does not give a distinct account of this version. He says that he had obtained two copies, since the publication of the earlier edition, “from the recitation of old persons residing at the head of Ettrick Forest, by which the story is brought out and completed in a manner much more correspondent to the true history.” #C# is, in fact, a combination of four copies; the two from Ettrick Forest, #B a#, and the MS. copy used in #B b# to “correct” Herd.

8, it scarcely requires to be said, is spurious, modern in diction and in conception.

19. Perhaps derived from Hume of Godscroft rather than from tradition. When Douglas was dying, according to this historian,[168] he made these last requests of certain of his kinsmen: “First, that yee keep my death close both from our owne folke and from the enemy; then, that ye suffer not my standard to be lost or cast downe; and last, that ye avenge my death, and bury me at Melrosse with my father. If I could hope for these things,” he added, “I should die with the greater contentment; for long since I heard a prophesie that a dead man should winne a field, and I hope in God it shall be I.” Ed. 1644, p. 100.

22 must be derived from the English version. As the excellent editor of The Ballad Minstrelsy of Scotland, Glasgow, 1871, remarks, “no Scottish minstrel would ever have dreamt of inventing such a termination to the combat between these two redoubted heroes ... as much at variance with history as it is repulsive to national feeling:” p. 431.

Genealogical matters, in this and the following ballad, are treated, not always to complete satisfaction, in Bishop Percy’s notes, Reliques, 1794, I, 34 ff; Scott’s Minstrelsy, 1833, I, 351, 363 ff: White’s History of the Battle of Otterburn, p. 67 ff; The Ballads and Songs of Ayrshire, I, 66 f.

#A# is translated by Doenniges, p. 87; #C# by Grundtvig, Engelske og skotske Folkeviser, No 12, p. 74, and by Talvj, Charakteristik, p. 537.

#a.# Cotton MS. Cleopatra, C. iv, leaf 64, of about 1550. #b.# Harleian MS. 293, leaf 52.

1 Yt fell abowght the Lamasse tyde, Whan husbond_es_ wynnes ther haye, The dowghtye Dowglasse bowynd hym to ryde, In Ynglond to take a praye.

2 The yerlle of Fyffe, w_y_t_h_owghten stryffe, He bowynd hym over Sulway; The grete wolde ever to-gether ryde; That raysse they may rewe for aye.

3 Over Hoppertope hyll they cam in, And so down by Rodclyffe crage; Vpon Grene Lynton they lyghted dowyn, Styrande many a stage.

4 And boldely brente Northomberlond, And haryed many a towyn; They dyd owr Ynglyssh men grete wrange, To batell that were not bowyn.

5 Than spake a berne vpon the bent, Of comforte that was not colde, And sayd, We haue brente Northomberlond, We haue all welth in holde.

6 Now we haue haryed all Bamborowe schyre, All the welth in the worlde haue wee, I rede we ryde to Newe Castell, So styll and stalworthlye.

7 Vpon the morowe, when it was day, The standerds schone full bryght; To the Newe Castell the toke the waye, And thether they cam full ryght.

8 S_yr_ Henry Perssy laye at the New Castell, I tell yow w_y_t_h_owtten drede; He had byn a march-man all hys dayes, And kepte Barwyke vpon Twede.

9 To the Newe Castell when they cam, The Skottes they cryde on hyght, ‘Syr Hary Perssy, and thou byste w_i_t_h_in, Com to the fylde, and fyght.

10 ‘For we haue brente Northomberlonde, Thy erytage good and ryght, And syne my logeyng I haue take W_y_t_h_ my brande dubbyd many a knyght.’

11 S_yr_ Harry Perssy cam to the wall_es_, The Skottyssch oste for to se, And sayd, And thou hast brente Northomberlond Full sore it rewyth me.

12 Yf thou hast haryed all Bamborowe schyre, Thow hast done me grete envye; For the trespasse thow hast me done, The tone of vs schall dye.

13 ‘Where schall I byde the?’ sayd the Dowglas, ‘Or where wylte thow com to me?’ ‘At Otterborne, in the hygh way, [T]her mast thow well logeed be.

14 ‘[T]he roo full rekeles ther sche rinnes, [T]o make the game a[nd] glee; [T]he fawken and the fesaunt both, Among the holtes on hye.

15 ‘Ther mast thow haue thy welth at wyll, Well looged ther mast be; Yt schall not be long or I com the tyll,’ Sayd Syr Harry Perssye.

16 ‘Ther schall I byde the,’ sayd the Dowglas, ‘By the fayth of my bodye:’ ‘Thether schall I com,’ sayd S_yr_ Harry Perssy, ‘My trowth I plyght to the.’

17 A pype of wyne he gaue them over the walles, For soth as I yow saye; Ther he mayd the Dowglasse drynke, And all hys ost that daye.

18 The Dowglas turnyd hym homewarde agayne, For soth w_i_t_h_owghten naye; He toke hys logeyng at Oterborne, Vpon a Wedynsday.

19 And ther he pyght hys standerd dowyn, Hys gettyng more and lesse, And syne he warned hys men to goo To chose ther geldyng_es_ gresse.

20 A Skottysshe knyght hoved vpon the bent, A wache I dare well saye; So was he ware on the noble Perssy, In the dawnyng of the daye.

21 He prycked to hys pavyleon-dore, As faste as he myght ronne; ‘Awaken, Dowglas,’ cryed the knyght, ‘For hys love that syttes in trone.

22 ‘Awaken, Dowglas,’ cryed the knyght, ‘For thow maste waken wyth wynne; Yender haue I spyed the prowde Perssye, And seven stondardes wyth hym.’

23 ‘Nay by my trowth,’ the Dowglas sayed, ‘It ys but a fayned taylle; He durst not loke on my brede banner For all Ynglonde so haylle.

24 ‘Was I not yesterdaye at the Newe Castell, That stond_es_ so fayre on Tyne? For all the men the Perssy had, He coude not garre me ones to dyne.’

25 He stepped owt at his pavelyon-dore, To loke and it were lesse: ‘Araye yow, lordyng_es_, one and all, For here bygynnes no peysse.

26 ‘The yerle of Mentaye, thow arte my eme, The fowarde I gyve to the: The yerlle of Huntlay, cawte and kene, He schall be w_y_t_h_ the.

27 ‘The lorde of Bowghan, in armure bryght, On the other hand he schall be; Lord Jhonsto_u_ne and Lorde Maxwell, They to schall be w_y_t_h_ me.

28 ‘Swynton, fayre fylde vpon yo_u_r pryde! To batell make yow bowen S_yr_ Davy Skotte, S_yr_ Water Stewarde, S_yr_ Jhon of Agurstone!’

29 The Perssy cam byfore hys oste, Wych was ever a gentyll knyght; Vpon the Dowglas lowde can he crye, ‘I wyll holde that I haue hyght.

30 ‘For thou haste brente Northomberlonde, And done me grete envye; For thys trespasse thou hast me done, The tone of vs schall dye.’

31 The Dowglas answerde hym agayne, W_y_t_h_ grett wurd_es_ vpon hye, And sayd, I haue twenty agaynst thy one, Byholde, and thou maste see.

32 Wyth th_a_t the Perssy was grevyd sore, For soth as I yow saye; He lyghted dowyn vpon his foote, And schoote hys horsse clene awaye.

33 Eu_e_ry man sawe that he dyd soo, That ryall was euer in rowght; Eu_e_ry man schoote hys horsse hym froo, And lyght hym rowynde abowght.

34 Thus S_yr_ Hary Perssye toke the fylde, For soth as I yow saye; Jh_es_u Cryste in hevyn on hyght Dyd helpe hym well that daye.

35 But nyne thowzand, ther was no moo, The cronykle wyll not layne; Forty thowsande of Skottes and fowre That day fowght them agayne.

36 But when the batell byganne to ioyne, In hast ther cam a knyght; The letters fayre furth hath he tayne, And thus he sayd full ryght:

37 ‘My lorde yo_u_r father he gretes yow well, Wyth many a noble knyght; He desyres yow to byde That he may see thys fyght.

38 ‘The Baron of Grastoke ys com out of the west, Wyth hym a noble companye; All they loge at yo_u_r fathers thys nyght, And the batell fayne wolde they see.’

39 ‘For Jh_es_us love,’ sayd Syr Harye Perssy, ‘That dyed for yow and me, Wende to my lorde my father agayne, And saye thow sawe me not w_y_t_h_ yee.

40 ‘My trowth ys plyght to yonne Skottysh knyght, It nedes me not to layne, That I schulde byde hym vpon thys bent, And I haue hys trowth agayne.

41 ‘And if that I w[e]ynde of thys growende, For soth, onfowghten awaye, He wolde me call but a kowarde knyght In hys londe another daye.

42 ‘Yet had I lever to be rynde and rente, By Mary, that mykkel maye, Then ever my manhood schulde be reprovyd Wyth a Skotte another day.

43 ‘Wherfore schote, archars, for my sake, And let scharpe arowes flee; Mynstrells, playe vp for yo_u_r waryson, And well quyt it schall bee.

44 ‘Eu_e_ry man thynke on hys trewe-love, And marke hym to the Trenite; For to God I make myne avowe Thys day wyll I not flee.’

45 The blodye harte in the Dowglas armes, Hys standerde stode on hye, That eu_e_ry man myght full well knowe; By syde stode starrës thre.

46 The whyte lyon on the Ynglyssh perte, For soth as I yow sayne, The lucett_es_ and the cressawnt_es_ both; The Skott_es_ favght them agayne.

47 Vpon Sent Androwe lowde can they crye, And thrysse they schowte on hyght, And syne m_er_ked them one owr Ynglysshe men, As I haue tolde yow ryght.

48 Sent George the bryght, owr ladyes knyght, To name they were full fayne; Owr Ynglyssh men they cryde on hyght, And thrysse the schowtte agayne.

49 Wyth that scharpe arowes bygan to flee, I tell yow in sertayne; Men of armes byganne to joyne, Many a dowghty man was ther slayne.

50 The Perssy and the Dowglas mette, That ether of other was fayne; They swapped together whyll that the swette, W_y_t_h_ sword_es_ of fyne collayne:

51 Tyll the bloode from ther bassonnett_es_ ranne, As the roke doth in the rayne; ‘Yelde the to me,’ sayd the Dowglas, ‘Or ell_es_ thow schalt be slayne.

52 ‘For I see by thy bryght bassonet, Thow arte su_m_ man of myght; And so I do by thy burnysshed brande; Thow arte an yerle, or ell_es_ a knyght.’

53 ‘By my good faythe,’ sayd the noble Perssye, ‘Now haste thow rede full ryght; Yet wyll I never yelde me to the, Whyll I may stonde and fyght.’

54 They swapped together whyll that they swette, Wyth swordës scharpe and long; Ych on other so faste thee beette, Tyll ther helmes cam in peyses dowyn.

55 The Perssy was a man of strenghth, I tell yow in thys stounde; He smote the Dowglas at the swordës length That he felle to the growynde.

56 The sworde was scharpe, and sore can byte, I tell yow in sertayne; To the harte he cowde hym smyte, Thus was the Dowglas slayne.

57 The stonderd_es_ stode styll on eke a syde, Wyth many a grevous grone; Ther the fowght the day, and all the nyght, And many a dowghty man was slayne.

58 Ther was no freke that ther wolde flye, But styffely in stowre can stond, Ychone hewyng on other whyll they myght drye, Wyth many a bayllefull bronde.

59 Ther was slayne vpon the Skottës syde, For soth and sertenly, S_yr_ James a Dowglas ther was slayne, That day that he cowde dye.

60 The yerlle of Mentaye he was slayne, Grysely groned vpon the growynd; S_yr_ Davy Skotte, S_yr_ Water Stewarde, S_yr_ Jhon of Agurstoune.

61 S_yr_ Charllës Morrey in that place, That never a fote wold flee; S_yr_ Hewe Maxwell, a lorde he was, W_y_t_h_ the Dowglas dyd he dye.

62 Ther was slayne vpon the Skottës syde, For soth as I yow saye, Of fowre and forty thowsande Scott_es_ Went but eyghtene awaye.

63 Ther was slayne vpon the Ynglysshe syde, For soth and sertenlye, A gentell knyght, S_yr_ Jhon Fechewe, Yt was the more pety.

64 S_yr_ James Hardbotell ther was slayne, For hym ther hartes were sore; The gentyll Lovell ther was slayne, That the Perssys standerd bore.

65 Ther was slayne vpon the Ynglyssh perte, For soth as I yow saye, Of nyne thowsand Ynglyssh men Fyve hondert cam awaye.

66 The other were slayne in the fylde; Cryste kepe ther sowlles from wo! Seyng ther was so fewe fryndes Agaynst so many a foo.

67 Then on the morne they mayde them beerys Of byrch and haysell graye; Many a wydowe, w_y_t_h_ wepyng teyres, Ther makes they fette awaye.

68 Thys fraye bygan at Otterborne, Bytwene the nyght and the day; Ther the Dowglas lost hys lyffe, And the Perssy was lede awaye.

69 Then was ther a Scottysh p_ri_soner tayne, S_yr_ Hewe Mongomery was hys name; For soth as I yow saye, He borowed the Perssy home agayne.

70 Now let vs all for the Perssy praye To Jh_es_u most of myght, To bryng hys sowlle to the blysse of heven, For he was a gentyll knyght.

#a.# Herd’s MS., I, 149, II, 30; Herd’s Scottish Songs, 1776, I, 153. #b.# Scott’s Minstrelsy, I, 31, 1802, “corrected” from Herd, 1776, “by a MS. copy.”

1 It fell and about the Lammas time, When husbandmen do win their hay, Earl Douglass is to the English woods, And a’with him to fetch a prey.

2 He has chosen the Lindsays light, With them the gallant Gordons gay, And the Earl of Fyfe, withouten strife, And Sir Hugh Montgomery upon a grey.

3 They have taken Northumberland, And sae hae they the north shire, And the Otter Dale, they hae burnt it hale, And set it a’into fire.

4 Out then spake a bonny boy, That servd ane o Earl Douglass kin; Methinks I see an English host, A-coming branken us upon.

5 ‘If this be true, my little boy, And it be troth that thou tells me, The brawest bower in Otterburn This day shall be thy morning-fee.

6 ‘But if it be fase, my little boy, But and a lie that thou tells me, On the highest tree that’s in Otterburn With my ain hands I’ll hing thee high.’

7 The boy’s taen out his little penknife, That hanget low down by his gare, And he gaed Earl Douglass a deadly wound, Alack! a deep wound and a sare.

8 Earl Douglas said to Sir Hugh Montgomery, Take thou the vanguard o the three, And bury me at yon braken-bush, That stands upon yon lilly lee.

9 Then Percy and Montgomery met, And weel a wot they warna fain; They swaped swords, and they twa swat, And ay the blood ran down between.

10 ‘O yield thee, yield thee, Percy,’ he said, ‘Or else I vow I’ll lay thee low;’ ‘Whom to shall I yield,’ said Earl Percy, ‘Now that I see it maun be so?’

11 ‘O yield thee to yon braken-bush, That grows upon yon lilly lee; . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

12 ‘I winna yield to a braken-bush, Nor yet will I unto a brier; But I would yield to Earl Douglass, Or Sir Hugh Montgomery, if he was here.’

13 As soon as he knew it was Montgomery, He stuck his sword’s point in the ground, And Sir Hugh Montgomery was a courteous knight, And he quickly broght him by the hand.

14 This deed was done at Otterburn, About the breaking of the day; Earl Douglass was buried at the braken-bush, And Percy led captive away.

Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, 1833, I, 345. #B# completed by two copies “obtained from the recitation of old persons residing at the head of Ettrick Forest.”

1 It fell about the Lammas tide, When the muir-men win their hay, The doughty Douglas bound him to ride Into England, to drive a prey.

2 He chose the Gordons and the Græmes, With them the Lindesays, light and gay; But the Jardines wald not with him ride, And they rue it to this day.

3 And he has burnd the dales of Tyne, And part of Bambrough shire, And three good towers on Reidswire fells, He left them all on fire.

4 And he marchd up to Newcastle, And rode it round about: ‘O wha’s the lord of this castle? Or wha’s the lady o’t? ’

5 But up spake proud Lord Percy then, And O but he spake hie! I am the lord of this castle, My wife’s the lady gay.

6 ‘If thou’rt the lord of this castle, Sae weel it pleases me, For, ere I cross the Border fells, The tane of us shall die.’

7 He took a lang spear in his hand, Shod with the metal free, And for to meet the Douglas there He rode right furiouslie.

8 But O how pale his lady lookd, Frae aff the castle-wa, When down before the Scottish spear She saw proud Percy fa.

9 ‘Had we twa been upon the green, And never an eye to see, I wad hae had you, flesh and fell; But your sword sall gae wi me.’

10 ‘But gae ye up to Otterbourne, And, wait there dayis three, And, if I come not ere three dayis end, A fause knight ca ye me.’

11 ‘The Otterbourne’s a bonnie burn; ’Tis pleasant there to be; But there is nought at Otterbourne To feed my men and me.

12 ‘The deer rins wild on hill and dale, The birds fly wild from tree to tree; But there is neither bread nor kale To fend my men and me.

13 ‘Yet I will stay at Otterbourne, Where you shall welcome be; And, if ye come not at three dayis end, A fause lord I’ll ca thee.’

14 ‘Thither will I come,’ proud Percy said, ‘By the might of Our Ladye;’ ‘There will I bide thee,’ said the Douglas, ‘My troth I plight to thee.’

15 They lighted high on Otterbourne, Upon the bent sae brown; They lighted high on Otterbourne, And threw their pallions down.

16 And he that had a bonnie boy, Sent out his horse to grass; And he that had not a bonnie boy, His ain servant he was.

17 But up then spake a little page, Before the peep of dawn: ‘O waken ye, waken ye, my good lord, For Percy’s hard at hand.’

18 ‘Ye lie, ye lie, ye liar loud! Sae loud I hear ye lie: For Percy had not men yestreen To dight my men and me.

19 ‘But I have dreamd a dreary dream, Beyond the Isle of Sky; I saw a dead man win a fight, And I think that man was I.’

20 He belted on his guid braid sword, And to the field he ran, But he forgot the helmet good, That should have kept his brain.

21 When Percy wi the Douglas met, I wat he was fu fain; They swakked their swords, till sair they swat, And the blood ran down like rain.

22 But Percy with his good broad sword, That could so sharply wound, Has wounded Douglas on the brow, Till he fell to the ground.

23 Then he calld on his little foot-page, And said, Run speedilie, And fetch my ain dear sister’s son, Sir Hugh Montgomery.

24 ‘My nephew good,’ the Douglas said, ‘What recks the death of ane! Last night I dreamd a dreary dream, And I ken the day’s thy ain.

25 ‘My wound is deep; I fain would sleep; Take thou the vanguard of the three, And hide me by the braken-bush, That grows on yonder lilye lee.

26 ‘O bury me by the braken-bush, Beneath the blooming brier; Let never living mortal ken That ere a kindly Scot lies here.’

27 He lifted up that noble lord, Wi the saut tear in his ee; He hid him in the braken-bush, That his merrie men might not see.

28 The moon was clear, the day drew near, The spears in flinders flew, But mony a gallant Englishman Ere day the Scotsmen slew.

29 The Gordons good, in English blood They steepd their hose and shoon; The Lindsays flew like fire about, Till all the fray was done.

30 The Percy and Montgomery met, That either of other were fain; They swapped swords, and they twa swat, And aye the blood ran down between.

31 ‘Now yield thee, yield thee, Percy,’ he said, ‘Or else I vow I’ll lay thee low!’ ‘To whom must I yield,’ quoth Earl Percy, ‘Now that I see it must be so?’

32 ‘Thou shalt not yield to lord nor loun, Nor yet shalt thou yield to me; But yield thee to the braken-bush, That grows upon yon lilye lee.’

33 ‘I will not yield to a braken-bush, Nor yet will I yield to a brier; But I would yield to Earl Douglas, Or Sir Hugh the Montgomery, if he were here.’

34 As soon as he knew it was Montgomery, He struck his sword’s point in the gronde; The Montgomery was a courteous knight, And quickly took him by the honde.

35 This deed was done at the Otterbourne, About the breaking of the day; Earl Douglas was buried at the braken-bush, And the Percy led captive away.

Finlay’s Scottish Ballads, I, xviii f; from recitation.

1 Then out an spak a little wee boy, And he was near o Percy’s kin: Methinks I see the English host A coming branking us upon.

2 Wi nine waggons scaling wide, And seven banners bearing high; It wad do any living gude To see their bonny colours fly.

Motherwell’s Minstrelsy, p. lxxi, note 30; from a recited copy.

‘O yield thee to yon braken-bush, That grows upon yon lilly lie; For there lies aneth yon braken-bush What aft has conquerd mae than thee.’

* * * * *

#A. a.#

3^4. many a styrande. “The reading of the MS. is, I suspect, right; for stage, or staig, in Scotland means a young horse unshorn of its masculine attributes, and the obvious intention of the poet is merely to describe that the Scottish alighted from many a prancing steed, in order to prepare for action.” Motherwell, Minstrelsy, p. lxxi, note 30, who would read accordingly, [Off] many a styrande stage. The fourth line, as amended by Motherwell, would be a superfluity, whereas Percy’s reading, here adopted, adds a pleasing incident, the rousing of the deer as the troopers passed their haunts.

20^1. beste, corrected to bent.

22^1. repeated at the top of fol. 65 back.

31^3. the one; #b#, thy one.

34^2. soth soth.

41^1. #b#, weynde.

46^3. cressawtt#es#.

50^3. schapped: cf. 54^1.

60^4. S_yr_ James: cf. 28^4.

64^3. Covell.

Crossed final ll, in all, styll, Castell, schall, well, etc., has not been rendered ll_e_.

#b.#

A Songe made in R. 2. his tyme of the Battelle at Otterburne betweene the Lord Henry Percye, Earle of Northomberland, and the Earle Douglas of Scotland, Anº. 1388.

Either #b# is a transcript of #a#, or both are from the same source.

3^2. Redclyffe.

3^4. Many a stirande.

4^4. bound.

7^4. they ranne.

11^1. S^r Henry came.

13^2. wille.

14^2. game and.

15^2. maiste thou.

15^4. Henrye.

20^1. houered vppon the beste bent.

24^4. gare me oute to.

28^4. Aguiston.

31^3. thy one.

35^1. no more.

35^2. cronicles.

37^3. abyde.

39^4. w^{th} thie eye.

40^1. yonde Skotes.

41^1. Ffor yf I weynde.

44^3. my avowe.

46^2. I wanting.

49^1. arrowes gan vpe to.

50^3. schapped: swatte.

51^1. from the.

54^1. swotte.

57^1. stonderes; elke syde.

59^3. a wanting.

60^4. S^r James.

63^3. Ffitzhughe.

64^1. Harbotle.

64^3. Covelle.

66^4. a wanting.

67^1. the morowe.

70^1. Percyes.

A pencil note on the first leaf of #b# (signed F. M., Sir F. Madden) states that it is in Ralph Starkey’s hand.

#B. a.#

2^3. Fuife in my transcript of Herd, I; Fyfe in II.

3^3. hae is omitted in II and the printed copy.

3^4. printed into a fire.

5^3. bravest in my transcript of Herd, I; brawest, II; printed brawest.

7^3. The second MS. has gae; printed gae.

8^3. bring me in my transcript of Herd, I; bury in the second MS., and so printed.

12^2. II, into.

#b.#

1^1. and wanting.

2^4. Hugh the.

3^1. have harried.

3^2. they Bambroshire.

3^3. And wanting.

3^4. a’in a blaze o fire.

5^1. true, thou little foot-page.

5^2. If this be true thou tells to me.

5^4. This day wanting; morning’s.

6^1. thou little.

6^2. lie thou tells to.

6^3. that’s wanting.

6^4. hang.

7^1. boy has.

7^2. hung right low.

7^3. gave Lord.

7^4. I wot a.

8^1. Douglas to the Montgomery said.

8^3. me by the.

8^4. that grows.

9^1. The Percy.

9^2. That either of other were fain.

10^1. Yield thee, O yield.

10^4. it must.

11 Thou shalt not yield to lord nor loun, Nor yet shalt thou yield to me; But yield thee to the braken-bush, That grows upon yon lilye lee.

12^1. I will not.

12^2. I to.

12^4. Hugh the: he were.

13^{1,3}. And the Montgomery.

13^4. And quickly took him.

14^4. the Percy.

#C.#

34^1. In one copy: As soon as he knew it was Sir Hugh.

162

THE HUNTING OF THE CHEVIOT

#A.# MS. Ashmole, 48, 1550 or later, Bodleian Library, in Skeat’s Specimens of English Literature, etc., third edition, 1880, p. 67.[169]

#B. a.# ‘Chevy Chase,’ Percy MS., p. 188, Hales and Furnivall, II, 7. #b.# Pepys Ballads, I, 92, No 45, Magdalene College, Cambridge, broadside, London, printed for M. G. #c.# Douce Ballads, fol. 27^b, Bodleian Library, and Roxburghe Ballads, III, 66, British Museum, broadside, printed for F. Coles, T. Vere, and J. Wright, #d.# Wood Ballads, 401, 48, Bodleian Library, broadside, printed for F. Coles, T. Vere, and W. Gilbertson. #e.# Bagford Ballads, I, No 32, British Museum, broadside, printed by and for W. Onley. #f.# A Scottish copy, without printer, Harvard College Library.

#A# was first printed by Hearne in Guilielmi Neubrigensis Historia, I, lxxxii ff, 1719; then by Percy, Reliques, I, 1, 1765, with a judicious preface. The whole manuscript, in which this piece is No 8, was edited by Thomas Wright for the Roxburghe Club in 1860: Songs and Ballads, with other short Poems, chiefly of the Reign of Philip and Mary.

#B# may probably be found in any of the larger sets of broadsides. It is included in such collections as Dryden’s Miscellanies, II, 238, 1702; Pills to purge Melancholy, IV, 289, 1719; Old Ballads, I, 111, 1723; Percy’s Reliques, I, 235, 1765. #b# has many readings of #a#, the copy in the Percy MS. There is a second Bagford copy, II, No 37, printed like #e#, for W. Onley. #f#, the Scottish copy, is probably of a date near 1700. Like the edition printed at Glasgow, 1747, it is, in the language of Percy, “remarkable for the wilful corruptions made in all the passages which concern the two nations”: Folio Manuscript, Hales and Furnivall, II, 1, note, and Reliques, 1765, I, 234. The Scots are made fifteen hundred, the English twenty, in 6, 13, 53, 54; the speeches of King James and King Henry are interchanged in 58, 60; 62, 63, are dropped.

The ‘Hunttis of Chevet’ is among the “sangis of natural music of the antiquite” mentioned as sung by the “shepherds” in The Complaynt of Scotland, a book assigned to 1549. It was an old and a popular song at the middle of the sixteenth century. The copy in the Ashmolean manuscript is subscribed Expliceth, quod Rychard Sheale, upon which ground Sheale has been held to be the author,[170] and not, as Percy and Ritson assumed, simply the transcriber, of the ballad. Sheale describes himself as a minstrel living at Tamworth, whose business was to sing and talk, or to chant ballads and tell stories. He was the author of four pieces of verse in the same manuscript, one of which is of the date 1559 (No 56). This and another piece (No 46), in which he tells how he was robbed of above three score pound, give a sufficient idea of his dialect and style and a measure of his ability. This ballad was of course part of his stock as minstrel; the supposition that he was the author is preposterous in the extreme.

The song “which is commonly sung of the Hunting of Chiviot,” says Hume of Godscroft, “seemeth indeed poeticall and a meer fiction, perhaps to stirre up vertue; yet a fiction whereof there is no mention, neither in the Scottish nor English chronicle”: p. 104. To this the general replication may be made that the ballad can scarcely be a deliberate fiction. The singer is not a critical historian, but he supposes himself to be dealing with facts; he may be partial to his countrymen, but he has no doubt that he is treating of a real event; and the singer in this particular case thought he was describing the battle of Otterburn, the Hunting of the Cheviot being indifferently so called: st. 65. The agreement to meet, in #A#, st. 9, corresponds with the plight in Otterburn, st. 16; 17^4 corresponds to Otterburn 12^4, 30^4; 47, 56, 57, are the same as Otterburn 58, 61, 67; 31, 32, 66, are variants of Otterburn 51, 52, 68; Douglas’s summons to Percy to yield, Percy’s refusal, and Douglas’s death, 33^1, 35–37^2, may be a variation of Otterburn, 51^3, 55–56; Sir John of Agarstone is slain with Percy in 52, and with Douglas in Otterburn 60; Sir Hugh Montgomery appears in both.

The differences in the story of the two ballads, though not trivial, are still not so material as to forbid us to hold that both may be founded upon the same occurrence, the Hunting of the Cheviot being of course the later version,[171] and following in part its own tradition, though repeating some portions of the older ballad. According to this older ballad, Douglas invades Northumberland in an act of public war; according to the later, Percy takes the initiative, by hunting in the Scottish hills without the leave and in open defiance of Douglas, lieutenant of the Marches. Such trespasses,[172] whether by the English or the Scots, were not less common, we may believe, than hostile incursions, and the one would as naturally as the other account for a bloody collision between the rival families of Percy and Douglas, to those who consulted “old men” instead of histories: cf. stanza 67. The older and the later ballad concur (and herein are in harmony with some chroniclers, though not with the best) as to Percy’s slaying Douglas. In the older ballad Percy is taken prisoner, an incident which history must record, but which is somewhat insipid, for which reason we might expect tradition to improve the tale by assigning a like fate to both of the heroic antagonists.

The singer all but startles us with his historical lore when he informs us in 63 that King Harry the Fourth “did the battle of Hombylldown” to requite the death of Percy; for though the occasion of Homildon was really another incursion on the part of the Scots, and the same Percy was in command of the English who in the ballad meets his death at Otterburn, nevertheless the battle of Homildon was actually done fourteen years subsequent to that of Otterburn and falls in the reign of Henry Fourth. The free play of fancy in assigning the cause of Homildon must be allowed to offset the servility to an accurate chronology; and such an extenuation is required only in this instance.[173] Not only is the fourth Harry on the throne of England at the epoch of Otterburn, but Jamy is the Scottish king, although King James I was not crowned until 1424, the second year of Henry VI.

But here we may remember what is well said by Bishop Percy: “A succession of two or three Jameses, and the long detention of one of them in England, would render the name familiar to the English, and dispose a poet in those rude times to give it to any Scottish king he happened to mention.” The only important inference from the mention of a King James is that the minstrel’s date is not earlier than 1424.

The first, second, and fourth James were contemporary with a Henry during the whole of their reign, and the third during a part of his; with the others we need not concern ourselves. It has given satisfaction to some who wish to reconcile the data of the ballad with history to find in a Scottish historiographer a record of a fight between a Percy and a Douglas in 1435 or 1436, at the very end of the reign of James I. Henry Percy of Northumberland, says Hector Boece, made a raid into Scotland with four thousand men (it is not known whether of his own motion or by royal authority), and was encountered by nearly an equal force under William Douglas, Earl of Angus, and others, at Piperden, the victory falling to the Scots, with about the same slaughter on both sides: Scotorum Historia, 1526, fol. ccclxvi, back. This affair is mentioned by Bower, Scotichronicon, 1759, II, 500 f, but the leader of the English is not named,[174] wherefore we may doubt whether it was a Percy. Very differently from Otterburn, this battle made but a slight impression on the chroniclers.

Sidney’s words, though perhaps a hundred times requoted since they were cited by Addison, cannot be omitted here: “Certainly I must confesse my own barbarousnes. I never heard the olde song of Percy and Duglas that I found not my heart mooved more then with a trumpet; and yet is it sung but by some blinde crouder, with no rougher voyce then rude stile: which, being so evill apparrelled in the dust and cobwebbes of that uncivill age, what would it worke trymmed in the gorgeous eloquence of Pindar!”[175] Sidney’s commendation is fully justified by the quality of The Battle of Otterburn, but is merited in even a higher degree by The Hunting of the Cheviot, and for that reason (I know of no other) The Hunting of the Cheviot may be supposed to be the ballad he had in mind. The song of Percy and Douglas, then, was sung about the country by blind fiddlers about 1580 in a rude and ancient form, much older than the one that has come down to us; for that, if heard by Sidney, could not have seemed to him a song of an uncivil age, meaning the age of Percy and Douglas, two hundred years before his day. It would give no such impression even now, if chanted to an audience three hundred years later than Sidney.[176]

#B# is a striking but by no means a solitary example of the impairment which an old ballad would suffer when written over for the broadside press. This very seriously enfeebled edition was in circulation throughout the seventeenth century, and much sung (says Chappell) despite its length.[177] It is declared by Addison, in his appreciative and tasteful critique, Spectator, Nos 70, 74, 1711, to be the favorite ballad of the common people of England.[178] Addison, who knew no other version, informs us that Ben Jonson used to say that he had rather have been the author of Chevy Chase than of all his works. The broadside copy may possibly have been the only one known to Jonson also, but in all probability the traditional ballad was still sung in the streets in Jonson’s youth, if not later.

#A# 3. By these “shyars thre” is probably meant three districts in Northumberland which still go by the name of shires and are all in the neighborhood of Cheviot. These are Islandshire, being the district so named from Holy Island; Norehamshire, so called from the town and castle of Noreham or Norham; and Bamboroughshire, the ward or hundred belonging to Bamborough castle and town. Percy’s Reliques, 1794, I, 5, note.

15. Chyviat Chays, well remarks Mr Wheatley in his edition of the Reliques, I, 22, becomes Chevy Chace by the same process as that by which Teviotdale becomes Tividale, and there is no sufficient occasion for the suggestion that Chevy Chase is a corruption of chevauchée, raid, made by Dr. E. B. Nicholson, Notes and Queries, Third Series, XII, 124, and adopted by Burton, History of Scotland, II, 366.

38 f. “That beautiful line taking the dead man by the hand will put the reader in mind of Æneas’s behavior towards Lausus, whom he himself had slain as he came to the rescue of his aged father” (Ingemuit miserans graviter, dextramque tetendit, etc., Æn. X, 823, etc.): Addison, in Spectator, No 70.

54^{3,4}, and #B# 50^{3,4}. Witherington’s prowess was not without precedent, and, better still, was emulated in later days. Witness the battle of Ancrum Muir, 1545, or “Lilliard’s Edge,” as it is commonly called, from a woman that fought with great bravery there, to whose memory there was a monument erected on the field of battle with this inscription, as the traditional report goes:

“Fair maiden Lilliard lies under this stane; Little was her stature, but great her fame; On the English lads she laid many thumps, And when her legs were off, she fought upon her stumps.”[179]

The giant Burlong also fought wonderfully on his stumps after Sir Triamour had smitten his legs off by the knee: Utterson’s Popular Poetry, I, 67, 1492–94, cited by Motherwell; Percy MS., Hales and Furnivall, II, 131. Sir Graysteel fights on one leg: Eger and Grine, Percy MS., I, 386 f, 1032, 1049. Nygosar, in Kyng Alisaunder, after both his armes have been cut off, bears two knights from their steeds “with his heved and with his cors”: 2291–2312, Weber, I, 98 f. Still better, King Starkaðr, in the older Edda, fights after his head is off: Helgakviða Hundingsbana, ii, 27, Bugge, p. 196.[180]

“Sed, etiam si ceciderit, de genu pugnat,” Seneca, De Providentia 2, 4 (cited in The Gentleman’s Magazine, 1794, I, 306), is explained by Seneca himself, Epis. lxvi, 47: “qui, succisis poplitibus, in genua se excepit nec arma dimisit.” “In certaminibus gladiatorum hoc sæpe accidisse et statuæ existentes docent, imprimis gladiator Borghesinus.” Senecæ Op. Phil., Bouillet, II, 12.

61^1. “Lovely London,” as Maginn remarks, Blackwood’s Magazine, VII, 327, is like the Homeric Αὐγειὰς ἐρατεινάς, Ἀρήνην ἐρατεινήν, Il., ii, 532, 591, etc. Leeve, or lovely, London, is of frequent occurrence: see No 158, 1^1, No 168, appendix, 7^5, No 174, 35^1, etc. So “men of pleasant Tivydale,” #B# 14^1, wrongly in #B a#, #f#, “pleasant men of Tiuydale.”

64^3. Glendale is one of the six wards of Northumberland, and Homildon is in this ward, a mile northwest of Wooler.

65^2. That tear begane this spurn “is said to be a proverb, meaning that tear, or pull, brought about this kick”: Skeat. Such a proverb is unlikely and should be vouched. There may be corruption, and perhaps we should read, as a lamentation, That ear (ever) begane this spurn! Or possibly, That tear is for That there, meaning simply there.

For genealogical illustrations may be consulted, with caution, Percy’s Reliques, 1794, I, 34 ff, 282 ff. With respect to 53^1, Professor Skeat notes: “Lou_m_le, Lumley; always hitherto printed louele (and explained Lovel), though the MS. cannot be so read, the word being written loūle. ‘My Lord Lumley’ is mentioned in the ballad of Scotish Feilde, Percy Fol. MS., I, 226, l. 270; and again in the ballad of Bosworth Feilde, id., III, 245, l. 250.”

A is translated by Herder, II, 213; by R.

v. Bismarck, Deutches Museum, 1858, I, 897; by Von Marées, p. 63; by Grundtvig, Engelske og skotske Folkeviser, p. 84, No 13. Into Latin by Dr. William Maginn, in Blackwood’s Magazine, 1819–20, VI, 199, VII, 323.

#B# is translated by Bothe, p. 6; by Knortz, L. u. R. Alt-Englands, p. 24, No 7; by Loève-Veimars, p. 55; (in part) by Cantù, p. 802. Into Latin by Henry Bold, Dryden’s Miscellanies, ed. 1702, II, 239; by Rev. John Anketell, Poems, etc., Dublin, 1793, p. 264.

MS. Ashmole, 48 Bodleian Library, in Skeat’s Specimens of English Literature, 1394–1579, ed. 1880, p. 67.

1 The P_er_së owt off Northombarlonde, and avowe to God mayd he That he wold hunte in the mowntayns off Chyviat w_i_t_h_in days thre, In the magg_er_ of doughtë Dogles, and all that eu_er_ with him be.

2 The fattiste hart_es_ in all Cheviat he sayd he wold kyll, and cary them away: ‘Be my feth,’ sayd _th_e dougheti Doglas agayn, ‘I will let _tha_t hontyng yf _tha_t I may.’

3 The[n] _th_e P_er_së owt off Bamborowe cam, w_i_t_h_ him a myghtee meany, W_i_t_h_ fifteen hondrith archar_es_ bold off blood and bone; _th_e wear chosen owt of shyars thre.

4 This begane at a Monday at morn, in Cheviat the hillys so he; The chylde may rue that ys vn-born, it wos the mor pittë.

5 The dryvars thorowe the wood_ës_ went, for to reas the dear; Bomen byckarte vppone the bent w_i_t_h_ ther browde aros cleare.

6 Then the wylde thorowe the wood_ës_ went, on eu_er_y sydë shear; Greahond_es_ thorowe the grevis glent, for to kyll thear dear.

7 _Th_is begane in Chyviat _th_e hyls abone, yerly on a Monnyn-day; Be _tha_t it drewe to the oware off none, a hondrith fat hart_ës_ ded _the_r lay.

8 The blewe a mort vppone _th_e bent, _th_e semblyde on sydis shear; To the quyrry then the P_er_së went, to se the bryttlynge off the deare.

9 He sayd, It was the Duglas promys this day to met me hear; But I wyste he wold faylle, verament; a great oth _th_e P_er_së swear.

10 At the laste a squyar off Northo_m_b_er_londe lokyde at his hand full ny; He was war a the doughetie Doglas co_m_mynge, with him a myghttë meany.

11 Both with spear, bylle, and brande, yt was a myghtti sight to se; Hardyar men, both off harte nor hande, wear not in Cristiantë.

12 The wear twenti hondrith spear-men good, withoute any feale; The wear borne along be the watt_er_ a Twyde, yth bownd_ës_ of Tividale.

13 ‘Leave of the brytlyng of the dear,’ he sayd, ‘and to your boÿs lock ye tayk good hed_e_; For neu_er_ sithe ye wear on your mothars borne had ye neu_er_ so mickle ned_e_.’

14 The dougheti Dogglas on a stede, he rode all_e_ his men beforne; His armor glytteryde as dyd a glede; a boldar barne was nev_er_ born.

15 ‘Tell me whos men ye ar,’ he says, ‘or whos men that ye be: Who gave youe leave to hunte in this Chyviat chays, in _th_e spyt of myn and of me.’

16 The first mane that ev_er_ him an answear mayd, yt was _th_e good lord P_er_së: ‘We wyll not tell the whoys men we ar,’ he says, ‘nor whos men _tha_t we be; But we wyll hounte hear in this chays, in the spyt of thyne and of the.

17 ‘_Th_e fattiste hart_ës_ in all Chyviat we haue kyld, and cast to carry them away:’ ‘Be my troth,’ sayd _th_e doughetë Dogglas agay[n], ‘_the_rfor the ton of vs shall de this day.’

18 Then sayd the doughtë Doglas unto the lord P_er_së: ‘To kyll all_e_ thes giltles men, alas, it wear great pittë!

19 ‘But, P_er_së, thowe art a lord of lande, I am a yerle callyd w_i_t_h_in my contrë; Let all our men vppone a p_ar_ti stande, and do the battell off the and of me.’

20 ‘Nowe Crist_es_ cors on his crowne,’ sayd the lorde P_er_së, ‘who-so-euer _the_r-to says nay! Be my troth, doughttë Doglas,’ he says, ‘thow shalt neu_er_ se that day.

21 ‘Nethar in Ynglonde, Skottlonde, nar France, nor for no man of a woman born, But, and fortune be my chance, I dar met him, on man for on.’

22 Then bespayke a squyar off Northombarlonde, R_i_c_hard_ Wytharyngton was him nam; ‘It shall neu_er_ be told in Sothe-Ynglonde,’ he says, ‘to Kyng Herry _th_e Fourth for sham.

23 ‘I wat youe byn great lord_ës_ twaw, I am a poor squyar of lande; I wyll_e_ neu_er_ se my captayne fyght on a fylde, and stande my selffe and loocke on, But whyll_e_ I may my weppone welde, I wyll_e_ not [fayle] both hart and hande.’

24 That day, _tha_t day, _tha_t dredfull day! _th_e first fit here I fynde; And youe wyll here any mor a the hountynge a the Chyviat, yet ys _the_r mor behynd_e_.

25 The Yngglyshe men hade ther bowys yebent, _th_er hartes wer good yenoughe; The first off arros that the shote off, seven skore spear-men the sloughe.

26 Yet byddys the yerle Doglas vppon _th_e bent, a captayne good yenoughe, And that was sene verament, for he wrought ho_m_ both woo and wouche.

27 The Dogglas p_ar_tyd his ost in thre, lyk a cheffe cheften off pryde; With suar spears off myghttë tre, the cu_m_ in on eu_er_y syde;

28 Thrughe our Yngglyshe archery gave many a wounde full_e_ wyde; Many a doughetë the garde to dy, which ganyde them no pryde.

29 The Ynglyshe men let ther boÿs be, and pulde owt brand_es_ _tha_t wer brighte; It was a hevy syght to se bryght sword_es_ on basnit_es_ lyght.

30 Thorowe ryche male and myneyeple, many sterne the strocke done streght; Many a freyke that was full_e_ fre, ther vndar foot dyd lyght.

31 At last the Duglas and the P_er_së met, lyk to captayns of myght and of mayne; The swapte togethar tyll_e_ the both swat, w_i_t_h_ swordes that wear of fyn myllan.

32 Thes worthë freckys for to fyght, _the_r-to _th_e wear full_e_ fayne, Tyll_e_ the bloode owte off thear basnet_es_ sprente, as eu_er_ dyd heal or ra[y]n.

33 ‘Yelde the, P_er_së,’ sayde the Doglas, ‘and i feth I shall_e_ the brynge Wher thowe shalte haue a yerls wagis of Jamy our Skottish kynge.

34 ‘Thoue shalte haue thy ransom fre, I hight the hear this thinge; For the manfullyste man yet art thowe that eu_er_ I conqueryd in filde fighttyng_e_.’

35 ‘Nay,’ sayd the lord P_er_së, ‘I tolde it the beforne, That I wolde neu_er_ yeldyde be to no man of a woman born.’

36 W_i_t_h_ that ther cam an arrowe hastely, forthe off a myghttë wane; Hit hathe strekene the yerle Duglas in at the brest-bane.

37 Thorowe lyvar and long_ës_ bathe the sharpe arrowe ys gane, _Tha_t neu_er_ aft_er_ in all his lyffe-days he spayke mo word_ës_ but ane: _Tha_t was, Fyghte ye, my myrry men, whyllys ye may, for my lyff-days ben gan.

38 The P_er_së leanyde on his brande, and sawe _th_e Duglas de; He tooke the dede mane by the hande, and sayd, Wo ys me for the!

39 ‘To haue savyde thy lyffe, I wolde haue p_ar_tyde w_i_t_h_ my land_es_ for years thre, For a bett_er_ man, of hart nare of hande, was nat in all _th_e north contrë.’

40 Off all that se a Skottishe knyght, was callyd S_er_ Hewe the Monggo_m_byrry; He sawe the Duglas to the deth was dyght, he spendyd a spear, a trusti tre.

41 He rod vppone a corsiare throughe a hondrith archery: He neu_er_ stynttyde, nar neu_er_ blane, tyll_e_ he cam to _th_e good lord P_er_së.

42 He set vppone the lorde P_er_së a dynte that was full soare; With a suar spear of a myghttë tre clean thorow the body he _th_e P_er_së ber,

43 A the tothar syde that a man myght se a large cloth-yard and mare: Towe bettar captayns wear nat in Cristiantë then _tha_t day slan wear _th_er.

44 An archar off Northomb_er_londe say slean was _th_e lord Persë; He bar a bende bowe in his hand, was made off trusti tre.

45 An arow _tha_t a cloth-yarde was lang to th_e_ harde stele halyde he; A dynt _tha_t was both sad and soar he sat on S_er_ Hewe _th_e Monggo_m_byrry.

46 _Th_e dynt yt was both sad and sar _tha_t he of Monggo_m_berry sete; _Th_e swane-fethars _tha_t his arrowe bar w_i_t_h_ his hart-blood _th_e wear wete.

47 Ther was neu_er_ a freake wone foot wolde fle, but still in stour dyd stand, Heawyng on yche othar, whyll_e_ the myghte dre, w_i_t_h_ many a balfull brande.

48 This battell begane in Chyviat an owar befor the none, And when even-songe bell was rang, the battell was nat half done.

49 The tocke . . on ethar hande be the lyght off the mone; Many hade no strenght for to stande, in Chyviat _th_e hillys abon.

50 Of fifteen hondrith archars of Ynglonde went away but seuenti and thre; Of twenti hondrith spear-men of Skotlonde, but even five and fifti.

51 But all wear slayne Cheviat w_i_t_h_in; _th_e hade no streng[th]e to stand on hy; The chylde may rue that ys unborne, it was _th_e mor pittë.

52 Thear was slayne, withe the lord P_er_së, S_er_ Joh_a_n of Ag_er_stone, S_er_ Rogar, the hinde Hartly, S_er_ Wyllyam, the bolde Hearone.

53 Ser Jorg, the worthë Lou_m_le, a knyghte of great renowen, Ser Raff, the ryche Rugbe, with dynt_es_ wear beaten dowene.

54 For Wetharryngton my harte was wo, _tha_t eu_er_ he slayne shulde be; For when both his leggis wear hewyne in to, yet he knyled and fought on hys kny.

55 Ther was slayne, w_i_t_h_ _th_e dougheti Duglas, S_er_ Hewe the Monggo_m_byrry, S_er_ Dauy Lwdale, _tha_t worthë was, his sistars son was he.

56 S_er_ Charls a Murrë in that place, _tha_t neu_er_ a foot wolde fle; S_er_ Hewe Maxwell_e_, a lorde he was, w_i_t_h_ _th_e Doglas dyd he dey.

57 So on the morrowe the mayde them byears off birch and hasell so g[r]ay; Many wedous, w_i_t_h_ wepyng tears, cam to fache _the_r makys away.

58 Tivydale may carpe off care, Northo_m_barlond may mayk great mon, For towe such captayns as slayne wear thear on the March-pa_r_ti shall neu_er_ be non.

59 Word ys co_m_men to Eddenburrowe, to Jamy _th_e Skottishe kynge, That dougheti Duglas, lyff-tenant of the M_ar_ches, he lay slean Chyviot w_i_t_h_in.

60 His handdës dyd he weal and wryng, he sayd, Alas, and woe ys me! Such an othar captayn Skotland w_i_t_h_in, he sayd, ye-feth shuld neu_er_ be.

61 Worde ys co_m_myn to lovly Londone, till the fourth Harry our kynge, _Tha_t lord P_er_së, leyff-tenante of the M_ar_chis, he lay slayne Chyviat w_i_t_h_in.

62 ‘God haue m_er_ci on his soll_e_,’ sayde Kyng Harry, ‘good lord, yf thy will it be! I haue a hondrith captayns in Ynglonde,’ he sayd, ’as good as eu_er_ was he: But, P_er_së, and I brook my lyffe, thy deth well quyte shall be.’

63 As our noble kynge mayd his avowe, lyke a noble prince of renowen, For the deth of the lord P_er_së he dyde the battell of Ho_m_byll-down;

64 Wher syx and thrittë Skottishe knyght_es_ on a day wear beaten down; Glendale glytteryde on ther armor bryght, ov_er_ castill_e_, towar, and town.

65 This was the hontynge off the Cheviat, that tear begane this spurn; Old men that knowen the grownde well yenoughe call it _th_e battell of Ott_er_burn.

66 At Ott_er_burn begane this spurne, vppone a Monnynday; Ther was the doughtë Doglas slean, _th_e P_er_së neu_er_ went away.

67 Ther was neu_er_ a tym on the Marche-p_ar_tës sen _th_e Doglas and _th_e P_er_së met, But yt ys m_er_vele and the rede blude ro_n_ne not, as the reane doys in _th_e stret.

68 Ihesue Crist our balys bete, and to the blys vs brynge! Thus was the hountynge of the Chivyat: God send vs all_e_ good endyng!

#a.# Percy MS., p. 188, Hales and Furnivall, II, 7. #b.# Pepys Ballads, I, 92, No 45, broadside printed for M. G. #c.# Douce Ballads, fol. 27^b, and Roxburghe Ballads, III, 66, broadside printed for F. Coles, T. Vere, and J. Wright. #d.# Wood’s Ballads, 401, 48, broadside printed for F. Coles, T. Vere, and W. Gilbertson. #e.# Bagford Ballads, I, No 32, broadside printed by and for W. Onley. #f.# A Scottish copy, without printer.

1 God prosper long our noble k_ing_, our liffes and saftyes all! A woefull hunting once there did in Cheuy Chase befall.

2 To dr_i_ue the deere w_i_th hound and horne Erle Pearcy took the way: The child may rue _tha_t is vnborne the hunting of _tha_t day!

3 The stout Erle of Northumberland a vow to God did make His pleasure in the Scottish woods three som_m_ers days to take,

4 The cheefest harts in Cheuy C[h]ase to kill and beare away: These tydings to Erle Douglas came in Scottland, where he lay.

5 Who sent Erle Pearcy p_re_sent word he wold p_re_vent his sport; The English erle, not fearing that, did to the woods resort,

6 W_i_th fifteen hundred bowmen bold, all chosen men of might, Who knew ffull well in time of neede to ayme their shafts arright.

7 The gallant greyhound[s] swiftly ran to chase the fallow deere; On Munday they began to hunt, ere daylight did appeare.

8 And long before high noone the had a hundred fat buckes slaine; Then hauing dined, the drouyers went to rouze the deare againe.

9 The bowmen mustered on the hills, well able to endure; Theire backsids all w_i_th speciall care _tha_t day were guarded sure.

10 The hounds ran swiftly through the woods the nimble deere to take, _Tha_t w_i_th their cryes the hills and dales an eccho shrill did make.

11 Lord Pearcy to the querry went to veiw the tender deere; Q_uo_th he, Erle Douglas p_ro_mised once this day to meete me heere;

12 But if I thought he wold not come, noe longer wold I stay. W_i_th _tha_t a braue younge gentlman thus to the erle did say:

13 ‘Loe, yonder doth Erle Douglas come, hys men in armour bright; Full twenty hundred Scottish speres all marching in our sight.

14 ‘All men of pleasant Tiuydale, fast by the riuer Tweede:’ ‘O ceaze yo_u_r sportts!’ Erle Pearcy said, ‘and take yo_u_r bowes w_i_th speede.

15 ‘And now w_i_th me, my countrymen, yo_u_r courage forth advance! For there was neuer champion yett, in Scottland nor in Ffrance,

16 ‘_Tha_t eu_er_ did on horsbacke come, [but], and if my hap it were, I durst encounter man for man, w_i_th him to breake a spere.’

17 Erle Douglas on his milke-white steede, most like a baron bold, Rode formost of his company, whose armor shone like gold.

18 ‘Shew me,’ sayd hee, ‘whose men you bee _tha_t hunt soe boldly heere, _Tha_t w_i_thout my consent doe chase and kill my fallow deere.’

19 The first man _tha_t did answer make was noble Pearcy hee, Who sayd, Wee list not to declare nor shew whose men wee bee;

20 ‘Yett wee will spend our deerest blood thy cheefest harts to slay.’ Then Douglas swore a solempne oathe, and thus in rage did say:

21 ‘Ere thus I will outbraued bee, one of vs tow shall dye; I know thee well, an erle thou art; Lord Pearcy, soe am I.

22 ‘But trust me, Pearcye, pittye it were, and great offence, to kill Then any of these our guiltlesse men, for they haue done none ill.

23 ‘Let thou and I the battell trye, and set our men aside:’ ‘Accurst bee [he!]’ Erle Pearcye sayd, ‘by whome it is denyed.’

24 Then stept a gallant squire forth— Witherington was his name— Who said, ‘I wold not haue it told to Henery our k_ing_, for shame,

25 ‘_Tha_t ere my captaine fought on foote, and I stand looking on. You bee two Erles,’ q_uo_th Witheringhton, and I a squier alone;

26 ‘I’le doe the best _tha_t doe I may, while I haue power to stand; While I haue power to weeld my sword, I’le fight w_i_th hart and hand.’

27 Our English archers bent their bowes; their harts were good and trew; Att the first flight of arrowes sent, full foure score Scotts the slew.

28 To driue the deere w_i_th hound and horne, Dauglas bade on the bent; Two captaines moued w_i_th mickle might, their speres to shiuers went.

29 They closed full fast on eu_er_ye side, noe slacknes there was found, But many a gallant gentleman lay gasping on the ground.

30 O Christ! it was great greeue to see how eche man chose his spere, And how the blood out of their brests did gush like water cleare.

31 At last these two stout erles did meet, like captaines of great might; Like lyons woode they layd on lode; the made a cruell fight.

32 The fought vntill they both did sweat, w_i_th swords of tempered steele, Till blood downe their cheekes like raine the trickling downe did feele.

33 ‘O yeeld thee, Pearcye!’ Douglas sayd, ‘and in faith I will thee bringe Where thou shall high advanced bee by Iames our Scottish k_ing_.

34 ‘Thy ransome I will freely giue, and this report of thee, Thou art the most couragious k_nigh_t [that ever I did see.]’

35 ‘Noe, Douglas!’ q_uo_th Erle Percy then, ‘thy p_ro_fer I doe scorne; I will not yeelde to any Scott _tha_t eu_er_ yett was borne!’

36 W_i_th _tha_t there came an arrow keene, out of an English bow, Which stroke Erle Douglas on the brest a deepe and deadlye blow.

37 Who neu_er_ sayd more words then these: Fight on, my merry men all! For why, my life is att [an] end, lo_rd_ Pearcy sees my fall.

38 Then leauing liffe, Erle Pearcy tooke the dead man by the hand; Who said, ‘Erle Dowglas, for thy life, wold I had lost my land!

39 ‘O Christ! my verry hart doth bleed for sorrow for thy sake, For sure, a more redoubted k_nigh_t mischance cold neu_er_ take.’

40 A k_nigh_t amongst the Scotts there was w_hi_ch saw Erle Douglas dye, Who streight in hart did vow revenge vpon the Lord Pearcye.

41 S_i_r Hugh Mountgomerye was he called, who, w_i_th a spere full bright, Well mounted on a gallant steed, ran feircly through the fight,

42 And past the English archers all, w_i_thout all dread or feare, And through Erle Percyes body then he thrust his hatfull spere.

43 W_i_th such a vehement force and might his body he did gore, The staff ran through the other side a large cloth-yard and more.

44 Thus did both those nobles dye, whose courage none cold staine; An English archer then p_er_ceiued the noble erle was slaine.

45 He had [a] good bow in his hand, made of a trusty tree; An arrow of a cloth-yard long to the hard head haled hee.

46 Against S_i_r Hugh Mountgomerye his shaft full right he sett; The grey-goose-winge _tha_t was there-on in his harts bloode was wett.

47 This fight from breake of day did last till setting of the sun, For when the rung the euening-bell the battele scarse was done.

48 W_i_th stout Erle Percy there was slaine S_i_r Iohn of Egerton, S_i_r Rob_er_t Harcliffe and S_i_r William, S_i_r Iames, that bold barron.

49 And with S_i_r George and S_i_r Iames, both k_nigh_ts of good account, Good S_i_r Raphe Rebbye there was slaine, whose prowesse did surmount.

50 For Witherington needs must I wayle as one in dolefull dumpes, For when his leggs were smitten of, he fought vpon his stumpes.

51 And w_i_th Erle Dowglas there was slaine S_i_r Hugh Mountgomerye, And S_i_r Charles Morrell, _tha_t from feelde one foote wold neu_er_ flee;

52 S_i_r Roger Heuer of Harcliffe tow, his sisters sonne was hee; S_i_r David Lambwell, well esteemed, but saved he cold not bee.

53 And the Lo_rd_ Maxwell, in like case, w_i_th Douglas he did dye; Of twenty hundred Scottish speeres, scarce fifty-fiue did flye.

54 Of fifteen hundred Englishmen went home but fifty-three; The rest in Cheuy Chase were slaine, vnder the greenwoode tree.

55 Next day did many widdowes come their husbands to bewayle; They washt their wounds in brinish teares, but all wold not p_re_vayle.

56 Theyr bodyes, bathed in purple blood, the bore w_i_th them away; They kist them dead a thousand times ere the were cladd in clay.

57 The newes was brought to Eddenborrow, where Scottlands k_ing_ did rayne, _Tha_t braue Erle Douglas soddainlye was w_i_th an arrow slaine.

58 ‘O heauy newes!’ K_ing_ Iames can say; ‘Scottland may wittenesse bee I haue not any capt_aine_ more of such account as hee.’

59 Like tydings to K_ing_ Henery came, w_i_thin as short a space, _Tha_t Pearcy of Northumberland was slaine in Cheuy Chase.

60 ‘Now God be w_i_th him!’ said our k_ing_, ‘sith it will noe better bee; I trust I haue within my realme fiue hundred as good as hee.

61 ‘Yett shall not Scotts nor Scottland say but I will vengeance take, And be revenged on them all for braue Erle Percyes sake.’

62 This vow the k_ing_ did well p_er_forme after on Humble-downe; In one day fifty k_nigh_ts were slayne, w_i_th lords of great renowne.

63 And of the rest, of small account, did many hundreds dye: Thus endeth the hunting in Cheuy Chase, made by the Erle Pearcye.

64 God saue our k_ing_, and blesse this land w_i_th plentye, ioy, and peace, And grant hencforth _tha_t foule debate twixt noble men may ceaze!

* * * * *

#A.#

Without division of stanzas, and in long lines, in the MS., and so printed by Hearne, Wright, and Skeat.

“The MS. is a mere scribble, and the spelling very unsatisfactory:” Skeat.

1^2. and A vowe: for avowe, see 63^1.

1^4. days iij.

3^2. xv. C archard_es_.

3^4. iij.

5^1. 30^1, 37^1. throrowe.

7^1. _The_r: cf. 4^1.

8^1. mot.

10^3. war ath the.

11^1. brylly and.

12^1. xx. C.

22^4. Herry _th_e iiij..

24^3. mor athe: athe chyviat.

27^1. in iii..

36^1. A narrowe.

39^2. years iij..

43^1. athe.

44^1. A narchar.

45^2. haylde.

48^2. A nowar.

50^1. xvC.

50^2. vij^x.

50^3. xxC.

60^3. A-nothar.

61^2. the iiij..

61^3. cheyff tenante.

62^3. a C..

68^1. ballys.

And for & always.

Expliceth quoth Rychard Sheale.

#B. a.#

1^3. there was.

3^4. 3.

6^1. 1500.

8^1. a 100.

9^4. _tha_t they.

13^3. 20.

14^1. pleasant men of.

25^3. 2.

27^1. bend.

28^3, 31^1. 2.

31^3. Lyons moods.

36^3. who scorke Erle.

38^3. thy sake; but compare #A# 41^1. #b#, #c#, have life; sake was caught from 39^2.

41. 2^d parte.

43^2. _tha_t his body.

48^1. slaine. There is a dot for the i, but nothing more in the MS.: Furnivall.

49^3. & good.

50^2. in too full; perhaps wofull.

53^3. 20.

53^4. 55.

54^1. 1500.

54^2. 53.

55^3. They washt they.

56^3. a 1000.

59^1. in Cheuy chase was slaine.

60^4. 500.

62^3. 50.

And always for &.

#b#, #c#, #d#, #e#.

#b#, #c#, #d# (and I suppose #e#), in stanzas of eight lines.

#b.#

A memorable song vpon the vnhappy hunting in Cheuy Chase betweene the Earle Pearcy of England and Earle Dowglas of Scotland. To the tune of Flying Fame.

London, Printed for M. G. Error for H. G.? Henry Gosson (1607–41).

#c.#

A Memorable song on the unhappy Hunting in Chevy-Chase between Earl Piercy of England and Earl Dowglas of Scotland. Tune of Flying Fame.

Printed for F. Coles, T. Vere and J. Wright. (1655–80?)

#d.#

Title as in #c#. To the tune, etc.

Printed for F. Coles, T. Vere and W. Gilbertson. (1648–61?)

#e.#

An Unhappy Memorable Song of the Hunting; the rest as in #d#.

Licensd and Enterd according to Order.

London, Priented by and for W. Onley, and are to be sold by C. Bates, at the Sun and Bible in Pye-corner, (1650–1702?)

1^3. #d.# The woful.

1^4. there did.

2^2. his way.

4^3. #e.# The tidings.

5^3. fearing this.

7^1. gray-hounds.

7^4. when day light.

8^2. #b#, #c#, #d#. an.

8^4. #c#, #d#, #e#. rouze them up.

9^3. #d.# The.

9^4. that day.

10^3. #c#, #d#, #e#. And with.

11^3. #c#, #d#, #e#. once wanting.

12^1. #e.# If that I.

14^1. #b.# pleasant men of. #c#, #d#, #e#. men of pleasant.

14^3. Then cease your sport.

15^3. #c#, #d#, #e#. For never was their (there).

15^4. or in.

16^2. #b#, #c#. but if. #d.# but since.

16^3. #d.# I wanting.

17^1. #c#, #d#, #e#. on a.

17^3. #c#, #d#, #e#. of the.

18^1. #c#, #d#, #e#. he said.

19^1. The man that first.

19^4. #c#, #d#. now shew.

20^1. #b#, #c#, #d#. Yet will we.

22^3. #b#, #c#, #d#. Then wanting. #e.# And for any. #c#, #e#. harmless.

22^4. #c#, #d#, #e#. no ill.

23^3. be he. #c#, #d#, #e#. Lord P.

23^4. #c#, #d#, #e#. this is.

24^3. #c#, #d#. said he would.

25^1. #d.# ever.

25^2. #c#, #d#, #e#. I stood.

25^3. #d.# two be. #b.# quod W. #c#, #d#, #e#. said W.

27^1. bent.

27^4. #c#, #e#. threescore.

28^2. #c#, #d#, #e#. Earl D. #c.# had the bent. #d.# bad the bent.

28^3. A captain: mickle pride.

28^4. The spears. #e.# sent for went.

29^3. And many.

30^1. #b.# a for great.

30^2. #b.# each one chose. #c#, #d#, #e#. and likewise for to hear.

30^{3,4}. #c#, #d#, #e#. The cries of men lying in their gore, and scattered here and there.

31^3. lions mov’d.

31^4. and made.

32^3. Vntill the blood like drops of raine.

33^1. Yeeld thee Lord Piercy.

33^2. and wanting.

33^3. shalt.

33^4. #b.# with Iames. #d.# the for our.

34^1. #c#, #d#. will I.

34^2. and thus.

34^4. that ever I did see.

35^1. #e.# To for Noe.

36^3. #b.# And stroke E. D. to the heart. #c#, #d#, #e#. Which struck E. D. to the heart.

36^4. #e.# and #a.#

37^1. #c#, #d#, #e#. never spake (spoke).

37^3. at an end.

38^3. #c#, #d#, #e#. And said. #b#, #c#, #d#, #e#. thy life.

39^2. with sorrow.

39^3. #c#, #d#, #e#. more renowned.

39^4. #c#, #d#. did. #e.# did ever.

40^1. #b.# among.

40^3. in wrath.

40^4. the Earl.

41^2. #c#, #e#. most bright.

43^2. #b.# his body he did. #c#, #d#, #e#. he did his body.

43^3. #c#, #d#, #e#. The spear went.

44^1. #c#, #d#, #e#. So thus. #b.# both these two. #c#, #e#. these.

45^1. #b.# a good bow in. #c#, #d#, #e#. a bow bent in.

45^4. #c#, #d#, #e#. unto the head drew he.

46^1. #d.# Montgomery then.

46^2. so right his shaft.

46^4. heart.

47^1. fight did last from break of day.

48^1. #c#, #d#, #e#. With the Earl.

48^2. Ogerton.

48^3. #c#, #d#, #e#. Ratcliff and Sir Iohn.

49^1. and good.

49^3. And (of #a#) wanting.

50^2. #b.# wofull. #c#, #d#, #e#. doleful.

50^4. #b.# still vpon.

51^3. And wanting: the field. #c#, #e#. Charles Currel.

51^4. flye.

52^1. #b.# Sir Robert. #c#, #d#, #e#. Sir Charles Murrel of Ratcliff too.

52^2. #d.# sisters sisters.

52^3. #c#, #d#, #e#. Lamb so well.

52^4. yet saved could.

53^1. Markwell: #c#, #d#, #e#. in likewise.

53^2. did with E. Dowglas dye.

53^3. #b#, #d#. peers for speeres.

54^3. #c#, #d#, #e#. rest were slain in C. C.

56^4. #c#, #d#, #e#. when for ere.

57^1. #c#, #d#, #e#. This news.

58^1. did say.

58^2. can for may.

59^4. was slain in Chevy Chase.

60^2. twill.

61^1. #c#, #e#. Scot.

61^4. #e.# Lord for Erle.

62^1. #c#, #d#, #e#. vow full well the king performd.

62^4. #b.# of high.

63^3. ended. #d.# of for in.

63^4. #b.# Lord for Erle.

64^1. #c#, #d#, #e#. the king: the land.

64^2. #c#, #d#, #e#. in plenty.

#f.#

The copy reprinted by Maidment, Scotish Ballads and Songs Historical and Traditionary, 1868, I, 80. This copy was given Maidment by Mr Gibb, “for many years one of the sub-librarians in the library of the Faculty of Advocates. It had belonged to his grandmother, and was probably printed in Edinburgh about the beginning of the last or end of the preceding century.”

5^3. fearing him.

6^1. twenty hundred.

13^3. fifteen hundred.

14^1. All pleasant men, as in #a#, #b#.

27^1. Our Scotish archers bent.

27^4. they four score English slew.

28^2. Douglas bade on the bent.

30^1. O but it was a grief to see; and again, 39^1, O but for O Christ.

46^3. wings that were.

46^4. were.

50^4. fought still on the stumps.

53^3. Of fifteen hundred.

53^4. went hame but fifty three.

54^1. twenty hundred.

54^2. scarce fifty five did flee.

55^4. could.

56^4. when they were cold as clay.

58^1. 60 is substituted here.

60. 58 is substituted, with change of James to Henry, and, in the next line, of Scotland to England.

61, 62 are omitted.

63^1. Now of.

64^3. debates.

163

THE BATTLE OF HARLAW

#A. a.# Communicated by Charles Elphinstone Dalrymple, Esq., of Kinaldie, Aberdeenshire. #b.# Notes and Queries, Third Series, VII, 393, communicated by A. Ferguson.

#B.# The Thistle of Scotland, 1823, p. 92.

The copy of this ballad which was printed by Aytoun, 1858, I, 75, was derived by Lady John Scott from a friend of Mr Dalrymple’s, and when it left Mr Dalrymple’s hands was in the precise form of #A a#. Some changes were made in the text published by Aytoun, and four stanzas, 14–16, 18, were dropped, the first three to the advantage of the ballad, and quite in accordance with the editor’s plan. Mr Dalrymple informs me that in his younger days he had essayed to improve the last two lines of stanza 7 by the change,

We’d best cry in our merry men And turn our horses’ head,

and had rearranged stanzas 18, 19, “which were absolutely chaotic,” adhering, however, closely to the sense. #A b#, given in Notes and Queries, from a manuscript, as “the original version of this ballad,” exhibits the changes made by Mr Dalrymple, and was therefore, one would suppose, founded upon his copy. Half a century ago the ballad was familiar to the people, and the variations of #b#, which are not few, may be traditional, and not arbitrary; for this reason it has been thought best not to pass them over. The Great North of Scotland Railway, A Guide, by W. Ferguson, Edinburgh, 1881, contains, p. 8 f, a copy which is evidently compounded from #A b# and Aytoun. It adds this variation of the last stanza:

Gin ony body spier at ye For the men ye took awa, They’re sleepin soun and in their sheen I the howe aneath Harlaw.

The editor of The Thistle of Scotland treats the ballad as a burlesque, and “not worth the attention of the public,” on which ground he refrains from printing more than three stanzas, one of these being 15; and certainly both this and that which follows it have a dash of the unheroic and even of the absurd. Possibly there were others in the same strain in the version known to Laing, but all such may fairly be regarded as wanton depravations, of a sort which other and highly esteemed ballads have not escaped.

The battle of Harlaw was fought on the 24th July, 1411. Donald of the Isles, to maintain his claim to the Earldom of Ross,[181] invaded the country south of the mountains with ten thousand islanders and men of Ross (ravaging everywhere as he advanced) in the hope of sacking Aberdeen, and reducing to his power the country as far as the Tay. There was universal alarm in those parts. He was met at Harlaw, eighteen miles northwest of Aberdeen, by Alexander Stewart, Earl of Mar, and Alexander Ogilby, sheriff of Angus, with the forces of Mar, Garioch, Angus, and The Mearns, and his further progress was stayed. The Celts lost more than nine hundred, the Lowlanders five hundred, including nearly all the gentry of Buchan. (Scotichronicon, II, 444 f.) This defeat was in the interest of civilization against savagery, and was felt, says Burton, “as a more memorable deliverance even than that of Bannockburn.” (History of Scotland, 1883, II, 394.)

As might be expected, the Lowlanders made a ballad about this hard fight. ‘The battel of the Hayrlau’ is noted among other popular songs, in immediate connection with ‘The Hunttis of Chevet,’ by the author of The Complaint of Scotland, 1549 (Murray’s edition, p. 65), but most unfortunately this ancient song, unlike Chevy Chase, has been lost. There is a well-known poem upon the battle, in thirty-one eight-line stanzas, printed by Ramsay, in his Ever Green, 1724, I, 78.[182] David Laing believed that it had been printed long before. “An edition,” he says, “printed in the year 1668, was in the curious library of old Robert Myln” (Early Metrical Tales, p. xlv.) In the catalogue of Myln’s books there is entered, apparently as one of a bundle of pamphlets, “Harlaw, The Battle yrof, An. 1411 ... 1668,”[183] and the entry may reasonably be taken to refer to the poem printed by Ramsay. This piece is not in the least of a popular character. It has the same artificial rhyme as The Raid of the Reid Swyre and The Battle of Balrinnes, but in every other respect is prose. Mr Norval Clyne, Ballads from Scottish History, p. 244 ff, has satisfactorily shown that the author used Boece’s History, and even, in a way, translated some of Boece’s phrases.

The story of the traditional ballad is, at the start, put into the mouth of a Highlander, who meets Sir James the Rose and Sir John the Gryme, and is asked for information about Macdonell; but after stanza 8, these gentlemen having gone to the field, the narrator describes what he saw as he went on and further on. It is somewhat surprising that John Highlandman should be strolling about in this idle way when he should have been with Macdonell. The narrator[184] in the Ever Green poem reports at second hand: as he is walking, he meets a man who, upon request, tells him the beginning and the end.[185] Both pieces have nearly the same first line. The borrowing was more probably on the part of the ballad, for a popular ballad would be likely to tell its tale without preliminaries.

A ballad taken down some four hundred years after the event will be apt to retain very little of sober history. It is almost a matter of course that Macdonell should fall, though in fact he was not even routed, but only forced to retire. It was vulgarly said in Major’s time that the Highlanders were beaten: they turned and ran awa, says the ballad. Donaldum non fugarunt, says Major, and even the ballad, inconsistently, ‘Ye’d scarce known who had won.’ We are not disconcerted at the Highland force being quintupled, or the battle’s lasting from Monday morning till Saturday gloaming: diuturna erat pugna, says Major. But the ignoring of so marked a personage as Mar, and of other men of high local distinction that fell in the battle,[186] in favor of the Forbeses, who, though already of consequence in Aberdeenshire, are not recorded to have taken any part in the fight, is perhaps more than might have been looked for, and must dispose us to believe that this particular ballad had its rise in comparatively recent times.

Dunidier is a conspicuous hill on the old road to Aberdeen, and Netherha is within two miles of it. (Overha and Netherha are only a mile apart, and the one reading is as good as the other.) Harlaw is a mile north from Balquhain (pronounced Bawhyne), and precisely at a right angle to John Highlandman’s route from the West. Drumminor (to which Brave Forbes sends for his mail-coat in stanza 15) was above twenty miles away, and the messenger would have to pass right through the Highland army. The fact that Drumminor ceased to be the head-castle of that powerful name in the middle of the last century tells in some degree in favor of the age of the ballad. (Notes of Mr Dalrymple.)

“The tune to which the ballad is sung, a particularly wild and simple one, I venture to believe,” says Mr Dalrymple, “is of the highest antiquity.” A tune of The Battle of Harlaw, as Motherwell pointed out, Minstrelsy lxii, is referred to in Polemo Middiana;[187] and a “march, or rather pibroch,” held to be this same air, is given in the Lute Book of Sir William Mure of Rowallan, p. 30, and is reproduced in Dauney’s Ancient Scotish Melodies, p. 349 (see the same work, p. 138 f, note b.) Sir William Mure is said to have died in 1657. The Ever Green Harlaw is adapted to an air in Johnson’s Museum, No 512, and “The Battle of Hardlaw, a pibroch,” is given in Stenhouse’s Illustrations, IV, 447, 1853, “from a folio MS. of Scots tunes, of considerable antiquity.” This last air occurs, says Maidment, in the rare Collection of Ancient Scots Music (c. 1776) by Daniel Dow, “The Battle of Hara Law,” p. 28: Scotish Ballads, etc., I, 200.

#a.# Communicated by Charles Elphinstone Dalrymple, Esq., of Kinaldie, Aberdeenshire, in 1888, as obtained from the country people by himself and his brother fifty years before. #b.# Notes and Queries, Third Series, VII, 393, communicated by A. Ferguson.

1 As I cam in by Dunidier, An doun by Netherha, There was fifty thousand Hielanmen A-marching to Harlaw. Wi a dree dree dradie drumtie dree.

2 As I cam on, an farther on, An doun an by Balquhain, Oh there I met Sir James the Rose, Wi him Sir John the Gryme.

3 ‘O cam ye frae the Hielans, man? An cam ye a’ the wey? Saw ye Macdonell an his men, As they cam frae the Skee?’

4 ‘Yes, me cam frae ta Hielans, man, An me cam a’ ta wey, An she saw Macdonell an his men, As they cam frae ta Skee.’

5 ‘Oh was ye near Macdonell’s men? Did ye their numbers see? Come, tell to me, John Hielanman, What micht their numbers be?’

6 ‘Yes, me was near, an near eneuch, An me their numbers saw; There was fifty thousan Hielanmen A-marchin to Harlaw.’

7 ‘Gin that be true,’ says James the Rose, ‘We’ll no come meikle speed; We’ll cry upo our merry men, And lichtly mount our steed.’

8 ‘Oh no, oh no,’ says John the Gryme, ‘That thing maun never be; The gallant Grymes were never bate, We’ll try phat we can dee.’

9 As I cam on, an farther on, An doun an by Harlaw, They fell fu close on ilka side; Sic fun ye never saw.

10 They fell fu close on ilka side, Sic fun ye never saw; For Hielan swords gied clash for clash, At the battle o Harlaw.

11 The Hielanmen, wi their lang swords, They laid on us fu sair, An they drave back our merry men Three acres breadth an mair.

12 Brave Forbës to his brither did say, Noo brither, dinna ye see? They beat us back on ilka side, An we’se be forced to flee.

13 ‘Oh no, oh no, my brither dear, That thing maun never be; Tak ye your good sword in your hand, An come your wa’s wi me.’

14 ‘Oh no, oh no, my brither dear, The clans they are ower strang, An they drive back our merry men, Wi swords baith sharp an lang.’

15 Brave Forbës drew his men aside, Said, Tak your rest a while, Until I to Drumminnor send, To fess my coat o mail.

16 The servan he did ride, An his horse it did na fail, For in twa hours an a quarter He brocht the coat o mail.

17 Then back to back the brithers twa Gaed in amo the thrang, An they hewed doun the Hielanmen, Wi swords baith sharp an lang.

18 Macdonell, he was young an stout, Had on his coat o mail, An he has gane oot throw them a’, To try his han himsell.

19 The first ae straik that Forbës strack, He garrt Macdonell reel, An the neist ae straik that Forbës strack, The great Macdonell fell.

20 An siccan a lierachie I’m sure ye never saw As wis amo the Hielanmen, When they saw Macdonell fa.

21 An whan they saw that he was deid, They turnd an ran awa, An they buried him in Leggett’s Den, A large mile frae Harlaw.

22 They rade, they ran, an some did gang, They were o sma record; But Forbës an his merry men, They slew them a’the road.

23 On Monanday, at mornin, The battle it began, On Saturday, at gloamin, Ye’d scarce kent wha had wan.

24 An sic a weary buryin I’m sure ye never saw As wis the Sunday after that, On the muirs aneath Harlaw.

25 Gin ony body speer at you For them ye took awa, Ye may tell their wives and bairnies They’re sleepin at Harlaw.

The Thistle of Scotland, 1823, p. 92.

1 As I cam thro the Garrioch land, And in by Over Ha, There was sixty thousan Highland men Marching to Harlaw.

11 The Highland men, with their broad sword, Pushd on wi might and power, Till they bore back the red-coat lads Three furlongs long, and more.

15 Lord Forbës calld his men aside, Says, Take your breath awhile, Until I send my servant now To bring my coat o mail.

* * * * *

#A. a.#

1^1. Var. Garioch land.

4^3. she: so delivered, notwithstanding the inconsistency with me in lines 1, 2.

11^3. Var. back the red-coats.

20^1. Sometimes pitleurachie.

25. “There are different versions of this stanza:” C. E. D.

#A. b.#

Printed in two long lines.

Burden: In a dree, etc.

1^2. Wetherha.

1^4. a’marchin.

3^4, 4^4. Come marchin frae. 4^{1,2}. she cam.

5^1. Oh were ye near an near eneuch.

6^1. she was.

6^2. An she.

6^4. a’marchin for Harlaw.

7^1. quo James.

7^{3,4}. So we’d best cry in our merry men, And turn our horses’ heeds.

8^1. quo John.

10^3. gaed for gied.

11^4. or mair.

12^1. did to his brither say.

12^4. And we’ll be.

15^1. Forbes to his men did say.

15^2. Noo, tak.

16^1. Brave Forbes’ hinchman, var. servant, then did.

19^2. Made the great M’Donell.

19^3. The second stroke that.

20^1. a ‘pilleurichie.’ 20^2. The like ye.

20^3. As there was amang.

21^3. in ‘Leggatt’s lan:’ “the manuscript is indistinct, and it would read equally well, Leggalt’s lan.

21^4. Some twa three miles awa.

22^2. But they were.

22^3. For Forbes.

22^4. Slew maist a’by the.

23^4. Ye’d scarce tell wha.

24^2. The like ye never.

24^3. As there was.

24^4. muirs down by.

25^1. An gin Hielan lasses speer.

25^2. them that gaed awa.

25^3. tell them plain an plain eneuch.

#B.#

15^1. man.

164

KING HENRY FIFTH’S CONQUEST OF FRANCE

#a-d#, broadsides. #a.# Among Percy’s papers. #b.# Roxburghe Ballads, III, 358. #c.# Jewitt’s Ballads and Songs of Derbyshire, p. 1. #d.# Chetham’s Library, Manchester, in Hales and Furnivall, Percy’s Folio MS., II, 597. #e.# Percy papers, “taken down from memory.” #f.# Nicolas, History of the Battle of Agincourt, 1832, Appendix, p. 78, from the recitation of a very aged person. #g.# The same, p. 80, source not mentioned. #h.# Tyler, Henry of Monmouth, II, 197, apparently from memory. #i.# Percy Society, XVII, Dixon, Ancient Poems, etc., p. 52, from singing. #j.# Skene MS., p. 42. #k.# Macmath MS., p. 27, from tradition. #l#, #m#. Buchan’s MSS, I, 176, II, 124, probably broadside or stall copies.

All the known copies of this ballad are recent. It is not in Thackeray’s list of broadsides, which dates perhaps as late as 1689 (Chappell, The Roxburghe Ballads, I, xxiv-xxvii); and it is not included in the collection of 1723–25, which showed particular favor to historical pieces. In a manuscript index of first lines to a large collection of songs and ballads “formed in 1748,” I find, “As our king lay on his bed,” and the ballad may probably have first been published in the second quarter of the last century. In a woodcut below the title of #a#, #b#, there are two soldiers with G R on the flap of the coat and G on the cap (no doubt in #c# as well); the date of these broadsides cannot therefore be earlier than the accession of George I, 1714. The broadside is in a popular manner, but has no mark of antiquity. It may, however, represent an older ballad, disfigured by some purveyor for the Aldermary press.

It is probable that the recited versions had their ultimate source in print, and that printed copies were in circulation which, besides the usual slight variations,[188] contained two more stanzas, one after 2 and another after 8, such as are found in #h# and elsewhere; which stanzas are likely to have formed part of the original matter.

After 2, #h# (see also #g#, #i#, #j#):

Tell him to send me my tribute home, Ten ton of gold that is due to me; Unless he send me my tribute home, Soon in French land I will him see.

After 8, #h# (see also #g#, #i#, #k#, #m#):

O then bespoke our noble king, A solemn vow then vowed he: I’ll promise him such English balls[189] As in French lands he neer did see!

#g# has several stanzas which are due to the hand of some improver.

Another, and much more circumstantial, ballad on Agincourt, written from the chronicles, was current in the seventeenth century. It begins, ‘A councell braue [grave] our king did hold,’ and may be seen in the Percy Manuscript, p. 241, Hales and Furnivall, II, 166, in The Crown Garland of Golden Roses (with seven stanzas fewer), ed. 1659, p. 65 of the reprint by the Percy Society, vol. xv; Pepys’ Ballads, I, 90, No 44; Old Ballads, II, 79; Pills to purge Melancholy, V, 49; etc.

The story of the Tennis-Balls is not mentioned by the French historians, by Walsingham, Titus Livius, or the anonymous biographer of Henry in Cotton MS., Julius E. IV.[190] It occurs, however, in several contemporary writings, as in Elmham’s Liber Metricus de Henrico Quinto, cap. xii (Quod filius regis Francorum, in derisum, misit domino regi pilas, quibus valeret cum pueris ludere potius quam pugnare, etc.), Cole, Memorials of Henry the Fifth, 1858, p. 101; but not in Elmham’s prose history. So in Capgrave, De illustribus Henricis, with a fertur, ed. Hingeston, 1858, p. 114; but not in Capgrave’s chronicle. We might infer, in these two cases, that the tale was thought good enough for verses and good enough for eulogies, though not good enough for history.

Again, in verses of Harleian MS. 565, “in a hand of the fifteenth century,” the Dolphin says to the English ambassadors:

Me thinke youre kyng he is nought [so] old No werrys for to maynteyn. Grete well youre kyng, he seyde, so yonge, That is both gentill and small; A tonne of tenys-ballys I shall hym sende, For hym to pleye with all.

Henry sends back this message:

Oure Cherlys of Fraunce gret well or ye wende, The Dolfyn prowed withinne his wall; Swyche tenys-ballys I schal hym sende As schall tere the roof all of his [h]all.[191]

But there is a chronicler who has the tale still. Otterbourne writes: Eodem anno \[1414], in quadragesima, rege existente apud Kenilworth, Karolus, regis Francorum filius, Delphinus vocatus, misit pilas Parisianas ad ludendum cum pueris. Cui rex Anglorum rescripsit, dicens se in brevi pilas missurum Londoniarum, quibus terreret et confunderet sua tecta.

And once more, the author of an inedited “Chronicle of King Henry the Fifth that was Kyng Henries son,” Cotton MS., Claudius A. viii, of the middle of the fifteenth century, fol. 1, back:[192]

And tha_n_ the Dolphine of Fraunce aunswered to our embassatours, and said in this man_er_, ‘that the kyng was ouer yong and to tender of age to make any warre ayens hym, and was not lyke yet to be noo good werrioure to doo and to make suche a conquest there vpon hym. And somwhat in scorne and dispite he sente to hym a tonne full_e_ of tenys-ballis, be-cause he wolde haue some-what for to play w_i_t_h_all_e_ for hym and for his lordis, and that be-came hym better than to mayntayn any werre. And than anone oure lordes that was embassatours token hir leue and comen in to England ayenne, and tolde the kyng and his counceill_e_ of the vngoodly aunswer that they had of the Dolphy_n_, and of the present the which_e_ he had sent vnto the kyng. And whan the kyng had hard her wordis, and the answere of the Dolp[h]ynne, he was wondre sore agreued, and right_e_ euell_e_ apayd towarde the Frenssh_e_men, and toward the kyng, and the Dolphynne, and thought_e_ to auenge hym vpon hem as sone as God wold send hym grace and myght_e_; and anon lette make tenys-ballis for the Dolp[h]ynne in all the hast that the myght_e_ be made, and they were grete gonne-stones for the Dolp[h]ynne to play wyth_e_-all_e_.’

The Dolphin, whom two of these writers make talk of Henry as if he were a boy, was himself in his nineteenth year, and the English king more than eight years his senior. “Hume has justly observed,” says Sir Harris Nicolas, “that the great offers made by the French monarch, however inferior to Henry’s demands, prove that it was his wish rather to appease than exasperate him; and it is almost incredible that, whilst the advisers of Charles evinced so much forbearance, his son should have offered Henry a personal insult.... It should be observed, as additional grounds for doubting that the message or gift was sent by the Dauphin, that such an act must have convinced both parties of the hopelessness of a pacific arrangement afterwards, and would, it may be imagined, have equally prevented the French court and Henry from seeking any other means of ending the dispute than by the sword. This, however, was not the case; for even supposing that the offensive communication was made on the occasion of the last, instead ... of that of the first embassy, it is certain that overtures were again sent to Henry whilst he was on his journey to the place of embarkation, and that even when there, he wrote to the French monarch with the object of adjusting his claims without a recourse to arms:” pp. 9, 12 f.

History repeats itself. Darius writes to Alexander as if he were a boy, and sends him, with other things, a ball to play with; and Alexander, in his reply to Darius, turns the tables upon the Persian king by his interpretation of the insolent gifts: Pseudo-Callisthenes, I, 36, ed. Müller, p. 40 f.[193] The parallel is close. It is not inconceivable that the English story is borrowed, but I am not prepared to maintain this.

It does not appear from any testimony external to the ballad that married men or widows’ sons had the benefit of an exemption in the levy for France, or that Cheshire, Lancashire, and Derby[194] were particularly called upon to furnish men: st. 9. The Rev. J. Endell Tyler believes the ballad to be unquestionably of ancient origin, “probably written and sung within a very few years of the expedition,” “before Henry’s death, and just after his marriage;” which granted, this stanza would have a certain interest. But, says Mr Tyler, “whether there is any foundation at all in fact for the tradition of Henry’s resolution to take with him no married man or widow’s son, the tradition itself bears such strong testimony to the general estimate of Henry’s character for bravery at once and kindness of heart that it would be unpardonable to omit every reference to it,” and he has both printed the ballad in the body of his work and placed “that golden stanza” on his title-page.[195] The question of Henry’s kindness of heart does not require to be discussed here, but it may be said in passing that there is not quite enough in this ballad to remove the impression which is ordinarily made by his conduct of the siege of Rouen.

The Battle of Agincourt was fought October 25, 1415. It is hardly necessary to say, with reference to the marching to Paris gates, that Henry had the wisdom to evacuate French ground as soon after the battle as convoy to England could be procured.

1 As our king lay musing on his bed, He bethought himself upon a time Of a tribute that was due from France, Had not been paid for so long a time. Fal, lal, etc.

2 He called for his lovely page, His lovely page then called he, Saying, You must go to the king of France, To the king of France, sir, ride speedily.

3 O then went away this lovely page, This lovely page then away went he; And when he came to the king of France, Low he fell down on his bended knee.

4 ‘My master greets you, worthy sir; Ten ton of gold that is due to be, That you will send him his tribute home, Or in French land you soon will him see.’

5 ‘Your master’s young and of tender years, Not fit to come into my degree, And I will send him three tennis-balls, That with them he may learn to play.’

6 O then returned this lovely page, This lovely page then returned he, And when he came to our gracious king, Low he fell down on his bended knee.

7 ‘What news, what news, my trusty page? What is the news you have brought to me?’ ‘I have brought such news from the king of France That you and he will never agree.

8 ‘He says you’re young and of tender years, Not fit to come into his degree, And he will send you three tennis-balls, That with them you may learn to play.’

9 ‘Recruit me Cheshire and Lancashire, And Derby Hills that are so free; No marryd man nor no widow’s son; For no widow’s curse shall go with me.’

10 They recruited Cheshire and Lancashire, And Derby Hills that are so free; No marryd man, nor no widow’s son; Yet there was a jovial bold company.

11 O then we marchd into the French land, With drums and trumpets so merrily; And then bespoke the king of France, ‘Lo, yonder comes proud King Henry.’

12 The first shot that the Frenchmen gave, They killd our Englishmen so free; We killd ten thousand of the French, And the rest of them they ran away.

13 And then we marched to Paris gates, With drums and trumpets so merrily: O then bespoke the king of France, ‘The Lord have mercy on my men and me!

14 ‘O I will send him his tribute home, Ten ton of gold that is due to he, And the finest flower that is in all France To the Rose of England I will give free.’

* * * * *

#a.#

King Henry V. his Conquest of France, in revenge for the affront offered him by the French king in sending him, instead of the Tribute due, a Ton of Tennis-Balls.

Printed and sold at the Printing Office in Bow Church-Yard, London.

1^3. due to.

#b.#

Title the same, with omission of the first him and due.

Printed and sold in Aldermary Church Yard, Bow Lane, London. st.

1^3. due from.

3^3. Low he came.

3^4. And when fell.

7^1. wanting.

7^4. he and you will ne’er.

10^3. man or widow’s.

12^4. run.

#c.#

Title as in #b#. Printed as in #b#.

1^3. due from.

3^1. away went.

3^3. Lo he.

3^4. And then he.

7^4. he and you will ne’er.

9^3. man or widow’s.

12^4. run.

#d.#

Title as in #b#. Imprint not given.

1^3. due from.

3^3. Low he came.

3^4. And when fell.

7^4. he and you will ne’er.

9^3. man or.

12^4. run.

#e.#

2^1. Then he called on.

2^4. With a message from King Henry.

3^1. Away then went.

3^2. Away and away and away.

3^4. He fell low down.

4^2. of gold wanting.

4^3. And you must send him this.

4^4. you’ll soon.

5^1, 8^1. tender age.

5^2, 8^2. not meet to come in.

5^3. So I’ll send him home some.

6^{1,2,4} as in 3^{1,2,4}.

7^1. my lovely.

7^2. what news bring you to me?

7^4. That I’m sure with him you’ll neer agree.

8^3. So he’s sent you here some.

9^2. that be.

9^3, 10^3. man nor widow’s.

9^4. For wanting.

10^{1,2}. Then they recruited Lankashire, Cheshire and Derby Hills so free.

10^4. brave for bold.

11^2, 13^2. so wanting.

11^3, 13^1. O then.

12^3. But we.

12^4. them were forsd to free.

13^4. Lord have mercy on [my] men and me.

14^1. send this.

14^3. fairest flower in all French land.

14^4. make free.

#f.#

“Communicated by Bertram Mitford, of Mitford Castle, in Northumberland, who wrote it from the dictation of a very aged relative.”

1^1. As a.

1^3. Those tributes due from the French king.

2^4. Those tributes that are due to me.

3^{1,2}, 6^{1,2}. Away, away went this lovely page, Away and away and away went he, nearly as in #e#.

4^{1,2}. My master he does greet you well, He doth greet you most heartily.

4^3. If you don’t.

5^2, 8^2. come within.

5^4. And in French land he ne’er dare me see.

7^1. my lovely, as in #e#.

7^3. from the French king.

7^4. That with him I’m sure you can ne’er agree.

8^4. And in French land you ne’er dare him see.

9^1. Go, ‘cruit me.

10^4. jovial brave, as in #e#.

12^1. The first that fired it was the French.

12^4. them were forced to flee.

13^3. The first that spoke was the French king.

13^4. Lord a mercy on my poor men and me.

14^{1,2}. O go and take your tributes home, Five tons of gold I will give thee.

14^4. in all French land, as in #e#.

#f# was clearly derived from the same source as #e#.

#g.#

The fourth line repeated as burden.

2. O then calld he his lovely page, His lovely page then called he, Who, when he came before the king, Lo, he fell down on his bended knee.

‘Welcome, welcome, thou lovely page, Welcome, welcome art thou here; Go sped thee now to the king of France, And greet us well to him so dear.

‘And when thou comst to the king of France, And hast greeted us to him so dear, Thou then shall ask for the tribute due, That has not been paid for many a year.’

3^{1,2}. Away then went this lovely page, Away, away, O then went he.

3^4. Lo, he. Between 3 and 4: ‘What news, what news, thou royal page? What news, what news dost thou bring to me?’ ‘I bring such news from our good king That him and you may long agree.

4. ‘My master then does greet you well, Does greet you well and happy here, And asks from you the tribute due, That has not been paid this many a year.’

6^{1,2}. Away, away went this lovely page, Away, away, then away went he.[196]

7^4. That he and you can ne’er agree.

After 8: O then in wroth rose our noble king, In anger great then up rose he: ‘I’ll send such balls to the king in France As Frenchmen ne’er before did see.’

9^1. Go ‘cruit me.

10^{3,4}. Tho no married man, nor no widow’s son, They recruited three thousand men and three.

Between 10 and 11: And when the king he did them see, He greeted them most heartily: ‘Welcome, welcome, thou trusty band, For thou art a jolly brave company.

‘Go now make ready our royal fleet, Make ready soon, and get to sea; I then will shew the king of France When on French ground he does me see.’

And when our king to Southampton came, There the ships for him did wait a while; Sure such a sight was ne’er seen before, By any one in this our isle.

Their course they then made strait for France, With streamers gay and sails well filld; But the grandest ship of all that went Was that in which our good king saild.

11^{3,4}. The Frenchmen they were so dismayd, Such a sight they ne’er did wish to see.

12^1. The first that fired it was the French, as in #f#.

13^3. The first that spoke was the French king, as in #f#.

13^4. Lo yonder comes proud King Henry.

After 13: ‘Our loving cousin, we greet you well, From us thou now hast naught to fear; We seek from you our tribute due, That has not been paid for this many a year.’

14{1,2}. ‘O go and take your tributes home, Five tons of gold I will give to thee,’

as in #f#.

14^3. And the fairest flower in all French land, as in #e#, #f#.

#h.#

“The author, to whom the following Song of Agincourt has been familiar from his childhood, cannot refrain from inserting it here.”

1^1. musing wanting.

1^2. All musing at the hour of prime: “conjectural.”

1^3. He bethought him of the king of France.

1^4. And tribute due for so long a time.

2^{3,4}, 3^3. king in.

After 2: Tell him to send me my tribute home, Ten ton of gold that is due to me; Unless he send me my tribute home, Soon in French land I will him see.

3^{1,2}, 6^{1,2}. Away then goes this lovely page, As fast, as fast as he could hie.

4^2. gold is due to me.

5^3. send him home some.

7^4. That you and he can.

8^2. come up to.

8^3. He has sent you home some.

After 8: Oh! then bespoke our noble king, A solemn vow then vowed he: I’ll promise him such English balls As in French lands he ne’er did see.

Cf. #g#.

9^1. Go! call up.

9^3, 10^3. But neither ... nor.

9^4. For wanting.

10^1. They called up.

After 10: He called unto him his merry men all, And numbered them by three and three, Until their number it did amount To thirty thousand stout men and three.

Cf. #g# 10^{3,4}.

11^1. Away then marched they.

11^2, 13^2. and fifes.

12^1. The first that fired it was the French, as in #f#, #g#.

13^1. Then marched they on to.

14^2. due from me.

14^3. the very best flower.

#i.#

From the singing of a Yorkshire minstrel, with “one or two verbal corrections” from a modern broadside.

2^{1,2}, 3^1, 6^1. trusty for lovely.

After 2: And tell him of my tribute due, Ten ton of gold that’s due to me; That he must send me my tribute home, Or in French land he soon will me see.

.^2, 6^2. Away and away and away, as in #e#, #f#.

After 8: Oh! then, etc., as in #h#, but tennis-balls in line three.

9^1. Go call up, as in #h#.

10^1. They called up, as in #h#.

12^4. And the rest of them they were forced to flee, nearly as in #f#.

13^4. Lord have mercy on my poor men and me, as in #f#.

14^3. And the fairest flower that is in our French land: cf. #e#, #f#, #g#.

14^4. shall go free, as in #g#.

#j.#

A Scottish version of the broadside from recitation of the beginning of this century: of slight value.

1^2. On his bed lay musing he: for the ee rhyme.

After 2 (cf. #g#, #h#, #i#): Ye gae on to the king of France, Ye greet him well and speedily, And ye bid him send the tributes due, Or in French lands he’ll soon see me.

5^3, 8^3. some tennis.

5^4. may play him merrilie.

6^1. Away, away went.

7^4. him an you.

8^4. may play fu merrilie.

9^1, 10^1. Chester and Lincolnshire.

11^2. wi drum an pipe.

12 wanting.

13^2. wi pipe an drum.

13^4. God hae mercie on my poor men and me: cf. #f#, #i#.

14 wanting.

#k.#

Received, 1886, from Mr Alexander Kirk, Inspector of Poor, Dalry, Kirkcudbrightshire, who learned it many years ago from David Rae, Barlay, Balmaclellan.

3^{1,2}, 6^{1,2}. Away, away ... Away, away, and away: cf. #e#, #f#, #g#, #i#.

7^{3,4}. No news, no news, ... But just what my two eyes did see: cf. No 114, #A# 11, #E# 10, #F# 10.

After 8 (cf. #g#, #h#, #i#): Go call to me my merry men all, All by thirties and by three, And I will send him such tennis-balls As on French ground he did never see.

12 wanting.

13^1. But when they came to the palace-gates.

#l.#

‘Henry V and King of France.’

2^{3,4}, 3^3. king in.

5^2. come unto.

7^4. him and you.

8^2. come to.

11^1. Then they.

13^4. Have mercy, Lord.

#m.#

‘The Two Kings.’

3, 4. When he came to the king of France, He fell down on his bended knee: ‘My master greets you, noble sir, For a tribute that is due to he.’

5^2, 8^2. come to.

5^3. send him home ten.

6, 7. When he came to our noble king, He fell low on his bended knee: ‘What news, what news, my lovely page? What news have ye brought unto me?’

8^3. He’s sent you hame ten.

After 8: Out then spake our noble king, A solemn vow then vowed he: ‘I shall prepare such English balls That in French land he ne’er did see.’

9^1. You do recruit.

10^1. They did recruit.

11 wanting.

12^4. The rest of them were forced to flee.

13^1. As we came in at the palace-gates.

13^4. Have mercy on my men and me.

14^3. The fairest flower in a’ French land.

165

SIR JOHN BUTLER

‘Sir Iohn Butler,’ Percy MS., p. 427; Hales and Furnivall, III, 205.

The subject of this ballad is the murder of a Sir John Butler at Bewsey Hall, near Warrington, Lancashire.

The story, which may be imperfect at the beginning, is that a party of men cross the moat in a leathern boat, and among them William Savage is one of the first. Sir John Butler’s daughter Ellen wakens her father and tells him that his uncle Stanley is within his hall. If that be true, says Sir John, a hundred pound will not save me. Ellen goes down into the hall, and is asked where her father is; she avers that he is ridden to London, but the men know better, and search for him. Little Holcroft loses his head in trying to keep the door of the room where Sir John is; they enter, and call on him to yield. He will yield to his uncle Stanley, but never to false Peter Legh. Ellen Butler calls for a priest; William Savage says, He shall have no priest but my sword and me. Lady Butler was at this time in London; had she been at home she might have begged her husband’s life of her good brother John. She dreams that her lord is swimming in blood, and long before day sets out for Bewsey Hall. On her way she learns that her husband is slain, and the news impels her to go back to London, where she begs of the king the death of false Peter Legh, her brother Stanley, William Savage, and all. Would ye have three men to die for one? says the king; if thou wilt come to London, thou shalt go home Lady Gray.

The papers of Roger Dodsworth,[197] the antiquarian ([198]16..), give the following account of the transaction, according to the tradition of his time. “Sir John Boteler, Knight, was slaine in his bed by the Lord Standley’s procurement, Sir Piers Leigh and Mister William Savage joininge with him in that action, curruptinge his servants, his porter settinge a light in a windowe to give knowledge upon the water that was about his house at Bewsaye, when the watch that watched about his howse at Bewsaye, where your way to ... [i. e. Bold] comes, were gone awaye to their owne homes; and then they came over the moate in lether boates, and soe to his chambre, where one of his servants, called Hontrost [Holcroft], was slaine, being his chamberlaine; the other brother betrayed his master. They promised him a great reward, and he going with them a way, they hanged him at a tree in Bewsaye Park. After this Sir John Boteler’s lady pursued those that slewe her husband, and indyted xx. men for that ‘saute,’ but being marryed to Lorde Gray, he made her suites voyd, for which cause she parted from her husband, the Lorde Graye, and came into Lancastershyre, and sayd, If my lord wyll not helpe me that I may have my wyll of mine enemies, yet my bodye shall be berryed by him; and she caused a tombe of alabaster to be made, where she lyeth upon the right hand of her husband, Sir John Butler.”[198]

Another paper in the same collection assumes to give the cause of the murder. “The occasion of the murther was this. The king being to come to Lathom, the Erle of Derby, his brother-in-law, sent unto hym [Sir John Butler] a messenger to desire him to wear his cloath [appear as his retainer] at that tyme; but in his absence his lady said she scorned that her husband should wayte on her brother, being as well able to entertayne the kynge as he was; which answer the erle tooke in great disdayne, and persecuted the said Sir John Butler with all the mallice that cowd be.” After mutual ill-services, they took arms one against the other, Sir Piers Legh and William Savage siding with the earl, and in the end these three corrupted Sir John Butler’s servants and murdered him in his bed. “Hys lady, at that instant being in London, did dreame the same night that he was slayne, that Bewsaye Hall did swym with blood; whereupon she presently came homewards, and heard by the way the report of his death.”[199]

Sir John Boteler, son of Sir John, born in 1429, married for his third wife Margaret Stanley, widow of Sir Thomas Troutbeck, daughter of Thomas first Lord Stanley, and sister of Thomas the second lord, whom Dodsworth calls by anticipation Earl of Derby, which he was not until 1485. Sir John Boteler had by his first wife four daughters, but no Ellen; by Margaret Stanley he had a son Thomas, born in 1461. He died in 1463, and his wife afterwards married for her third husband Henry Lord Grey of Codnor.

According to st. 23 of the ballad, Dame Margaret’s brother Stanley, that is Lord Thomas, is directly concerned in the murder which in the Dodsworth story he is said only to have procured. But an uncle Stanley appears to be a prominent member of the hostile party in sts 5, 12; how, we cannot explain. A ‘good’ brother John is mentioned in st. 15, of whom Lady Butler might have begged her husband’s life, and who must, therefore, have been present. Lady Butler had a brother John. But the alleged participation of Sir Peter Legh and William Savage in this murder, perpetrated in 1463, is an impossibility. Sir Peter Legh was born in 1455, and was only eight years old at that time, and William Savage, nephew of Lord Thomas Stanley, was also a mere child. As to the part ascribed to Lord Thomas Stanley, Sir Thomas Butler, the son of Sir John, is said to have lived on the most friendly terms with him in after days, and to have limited “an estate in remainder, after the limitation to himself and his heirs, to the Earl of Derby in fee,” which we can hardly suppose he would have done if the earl had been his father’s murderer.

The occasion of the murder is represented in the tradition reported by Dodsworth to have been Sir John Butler’s refusal (through his wife) to wear the Earl of Derby’s livery at the time of the king’s coming to Lathom. The king (Henry VII) did indeed come to Lathom, but not until the year 1495, thirty-two years after Sir John’s death, and three years after that of his wife. It is true that other accounts make Sir Thomas, the son of Sir John, to have been the victim of the murder; but Sir Thomas died in 1522, and the Earl of Derby in 1504.[200] There is not, as Dr. Robson says, a tittle of evidence to show that there was any murder at all, whether of Sir John or any other of the Butler family. But it was an unquiet time, and the conjecture has been offered “that, being a consistent Lancastrian,” Sir John “may have incurred some Yorkist resentments, and have been sacrificed by a confederacy of some of those who, though his private friends, were his political enemies.”[201]

Sir John Butler, son of Sir John, is of course the only person that the ballad and the parallel tradition can intend, for Margaret Stanley was the only Stanley that ever married a Butler, and Margaret Stanley’s third husband was Lord Grey of Codnor. But Sir John the elder, who died in 1430, had a daughter Ellen, “old enough to raise an alarm when her father was attacked, while he was actually nephew by marriage to the second Sir John Stanley of Lathom, who survived him.” (If we might proceed according to established mythological rules, and transfer to the son what is told of the father, we might account for the “uncle Stanley” and the Ellen of the ballad.) Sir John the senior’s widow, Lady Isabella, was in 1437 violently carried off and forced into marriage by one William Poole, and her petition to Parliament for redress calls this Poole an outlaw “for felony for man’s death by him murdered and slain.” It has been thought a not overstrained presumption that this language may refer to the death of Lady Isabella’s husband, the earlier Sir John, though it would be strange, if such were the reference, that no name should be given.[202]

The Bewsey murder has been narrated, with the variations of later tradition, by John Fitchett in ‘Bewsey, a Poem,’ Warrington, 1796; in a ballad by John Roby, Traditions of Lancashire, 1879, II, 72; and in another ballad in Ballads and Songs of Lancashire, Harland and Wilkinson, 1882, p. 13 (at p. 15 Fitchett’s verses are cited). See also Dr Robson, in the preface to the Percy ballad, p. 208, and Beamont, Annals of the Lords of Warrington, p. 318.

1 But word is come to Warrington, And Busye Hall is laid about; S_i_r Iohn Butler and his merry men Stand in ffull great doubt.

2 When they came to Busye Hall Itt was the merke midnight, And all the bridges were vp drawen, And neuer a candle-light.

3 There they made them one good boate, All of one good bull skinn; Will_iam_ Sauage was one of the ffirst _Tha_t euer came itt w_i_thin.

4 Hee sayled ore his merrymen, By two and two together, And said itt was as good a bote As ere was made of lether.

5 ‘Waken you, waken you, deare ffather! God waken you w_i_thin! For heere is yo_u_r vnckle Standlye Come yo_u_r hall w_i_thin.’

6 ‘If _tha_t be true, Ellen Butler, These tydings you tell mee, A hundred pound in good redd gold This night will not borrow mee.’

7 Then came downe Ellen Butler And into her ffathers hall, And then came downe Ellen Butler, And shee was laced in pall.

8 ‘Where is thy ffather, Ellen Butler? Haue done, and tell itt mee:’ ‘My ffather is now to London ridden, As Christ shall haue p_ar_t of mee.’

9 ‘Now nay, now nay, Ellen Butler, Ffor soe itt must not bee; Ffor ere I goe fforth of this hall, Yo_u_r ffather I must see.’

10 The sought _tha_t hall then vp and downe Theras Iohn Butler lay; The sought _tha_t hall then vp and downe Theras Iohn Butler lay.

11 Ffaire him ffall, litle Holcrofft! Soe merrilye he kept the dore, Till _tha_t his head ffrom his shoulders Came tumbling downe the ffloore.

12 ‘Yeeld thee, yeelde thee, Iohn Butler! Yeelde thee now to mee!’ ‘I will yeelde me to my vnckle Stanlye, And neere to ffalse Peeter Lee.’

13 ‘A preist, a preist,’ saies Ellen Butler, ‘To housle and to shriue! A preist, a preist,’ sais Ellen Butler, ‘While _tha_t my father is a man aliue!’

14 Then bespake him Will_iam_ Sauage, A shames death may hee dye! Sayes, He shall haue no other preist But my bright sword and mee.

15 The Ladye Butler is to London rydden, Shee had better haue beene att home; Shee might haue beggd her owne marryed lo_rd_ Att her good brother Iohn.

16 And as shee lay in leeue London, And as shee lay in her bedd, Shee dreamed her owne marryed lo_rd_ Was swiminnge in blood soe red.

17 Shee called vp her merry men all, Long ere itt was day; Saies, Wee must ryde to Busye Hall, W_i_th all speed _tha_t wee may.

18 Shee mett w_i_th three Kendall men, Were ryding by the way: ‘Tydings, tydings, Kendall men, I pray you tell itt mee!’

19 ‘Heauy tydings, deare madam; Ffrom you wee will not leane; The worthyest k_night_ in merry England, Iohn Butler, Lord! hee is slaine!’

20 ‘Ffarewell, ffarwell, Iohn Butler! Ffor thee I must neuer see: Ffarewell, ffarwell, Busiye Hall! For thee I will neu_er_ come nye.’

21 Now Ladye Butler is to London againe, In all the speed might bee, And when shee came before her prince, Shee kneeled low downe on her knee.

22 ‘A boone, a boone, my leege!’ shee sayes, ‘Ffor Gods loue grant itt mee!’ ‘What is thy boone, Lady Butler? Or what wold thou haue of mee?

23 ‘What is thy boone, Lady Butler? Or what wold thou haue of mee?’ ‘_Tha_t ffalse Peeres of Lee, and my brother Stanley, And Will_iam_ Sauage, and all, may dye.’

24 ‘Come you hither, Lady Butler, Come you ower this stone; Wold you haue three men ffor to dye, All ffor the losse off one?

25 ‘Come you hither, Lady Butler, With all the speed you may; If thou wilt come to London, La_dy_ Butler, Thou shalt goe home Lady Gray.’

* * * * *

2^2. merke may be merle in the MS.: Furnivall.

4^2. 2 and 2.

6^3. a 100[li .].

7^1. them for Then.

10^{1,2}. These two lines only are in the MS., but they are marked with a bracket and bis: Furnivall.

18^1, 24^3. 3.

22^{3,4}. These two lines are bracketed, and marked bis in the MS.: Furnivall.

166

THE ROSE OF ENGLAND

‘The Rose of Englande,’ Percy MS., p. 423; Hales and Furnivall, III, 187.

The title of this ballad, as Percy notes in his manuscript, is quoted in Fletcher’s Monsieur Thomas (printed in 1639), act third, scene third, Dyce, VII, 364. The subject is the winning of the crown of England from Richard III by Henry VII, and the parties on both sides, though some of them are sometimes called by their proper names, are mostly indicated by their badges or cognizances,[203] which were perfectly familiar, so that though there is a “perpetual allegory,” it is not a “dark conceit.”

The red rose of Lancaster was rooted up by a boar, Richard, who was generally believed to have murdered Henry VI and his son Edward, the Prince of Wales; but the seed of the rose, the Earl of Richmond, afterwards wore the crown. The sixth stanza gives us to understand that the young Earl of Richmond was under the protection of Lord Stanley at Lathom before his uncle, the Earl of Pembroke, fled with him to Brittany, in 1471; but this does not appear in the histories. The Earl of Richmond came back to claim his right (in 1485), and brought with him the blue boar, the Earl of Oxford, to encounter, with Richard, the white boar. Richmond sends a messenger to the old eagle, Lord Stanley, his stepfather, to announce his arrival; Stanley thanks God, and hopes that the rose shall flourish again. The Welshmen rise in a mass under Rice ap Thomas and shog on to Shrewsbury. Master Mitton, bailiff of Shrewsbury, refuses at first to let Richmond enter, but, upon receiving letters from Sir William Stanley of Holt Castle, opens the gates. The Earl of Oxford is about to smite off the bailiff’s head; Richmond interferes, and asks Mitton why he was kept out. The bailiff knows no king but him that wears the crown; if Richmond shall put down Richard, he will, when sworn, be as true to Richmond as to Richard now. Richmond recognizes this as genuine loyalty, and will not have the bailiff harmed. The earl moves on to Newport, and then has a private meeting at Atherstone with Lord Stanley, who makes great moan because the young eagle, Lord Strange, his eldest son, is a hostage in the hands of the white boar. At the battle Oxford has the van; Lord Stanley follows ‘fast’! The Talbot-dog (Sir Gilbert Talbot) bites sore; the unicorn (Sir John Savage) quits himself well; then comes in the hart’s head (Sir William Stanley), the field is fought, the white boar slain, and the young eagle saved as by fire.[204]

How the Earl of Richmond compassed the crown of England is told at more length in two histories in the ballad-stanza, ‘Bosworth Field’ and ‘Lady Bessy.’ The first of these (656 verses) occurs only in the Percy MS., Hales and Furnivall, III, 235. It is on the whole a tame performance. Richmond is kept quite subordinate to the Stanleys, kneeling to Sir William, v. 371, and “desiring” the van of Lord Stanley, who grants his request, 449–51. The second exists in two versions: (1) Harleian MS. 367, printed by Mr Halliwell-Phillipps, Percy Society, vol. xx, 1847, p. 43, and Palatine Anthology, 1850, p. 60; Percy MS., Hales and Furnivall, III, 321 (each of about 1100 verses); (2) Percy Society and Palatine Anthology again, p. 1, p. 6, and previously by Thomas Heywood, 1829 (about 1250 vv). In this second poem the love, ambition, and energy of Elizabeth of York sets all the instruments at work, and the Stanleys are not so extravagantly prominent. It is a remarkably lively narrative, with many curious details, and in its original form (which we cannot suppose we have) must have been nearly contemporary. ‘Bosworth Field’ borrows some verses from it.

17^2, 22^4. This affirmation of the trustworthiness of the chronicle occurs in ‘The Battle of Otterburn,’ No 161, 35^2, and again in ‘Flodden Field,’ No 178, appendix, 121^4.

1 Throughout a garden greene and gay, A seemlye sight itt was to see How fflowers did flourish fresh and gay, And birds doe sing melodiouslye.

2 In the midst of a garden there sprange a tree, W_hi_ch tree was of a mickle price, And there vppon sprang the rose soe redd, The goodlyest _tha_t euer sprange on rise.

3 This rose was ffaire, ffresh to behold, Springing w_i_th many a royall lance; A crowned king, w_i_th a crowne of gold, Ouer England, Ireland, and of Ffrance.

4 Then came in a beast men call a bore, And he rooted this garden vpp and downe; By the seede of the rose he sett noe store, But afterwards itt wore the crowne.

5 Hee tooke the branches of this rose away, And all in sunder did them teare, And he buryed them vnder a clodd of clay, Swore they shold neu_er_ bloome nor beare.

6 Then came in an egle gleaming gay, Of all ffaire birds well worth the best; He took the branche of the rose away, And bore itt to Latham to his nest.

7 But now is this rose out of England exiled, This certaine truth I will not laine; But if itt please you to sitt a while, I’le tell you how the rose came in againe.

8 Att Milford Hauen he entered in; To claime his right, was his delight; He brought the blew bore in w_i_th him, To encounter w_i_th the bore soe white.

9 The[n] a messenger the rose did send To the egles nest, and bidd him hye: ‘To my ffather, the old egle, I doe [me] commend, His aide and helpe I craue speedylye.’

10 Saies, I desire my father att my cominge Of men and mony att my need, And alsoe my mother of her deer blessing; The better then I hope to speede.

11 And when the messenger came before thold egle, He kneeled him downe vpon his knee; Saith, Well greeteth you my lo_rd_ the rose, He hath sent you greetings here by me.

12 Safe ffrom the seas Christ hath him sent, Now he is entered England w_i_thin: ‘Let vs thanke God,’ the old egle did say, ‘He shall be the fflower of all his kine.

13 ‘Wend away, messenger, w_i_th might and maine; Itt’s hard to know who a man may trust; I hope the rose shall fflourish againe, And haue all things att his owne lust.’

14 Then S_i_r Rice ap Thomas drawes Wales w_i_th him; A worthy sight itt was to see, How the Welchmen rose wholy w_i_th him, And shogged them to Shrewsburye.

15 Att _tha_t time was baylye in Shrewsburye One M_aster_ Mitton, in the towne; The gates were strong, and he mad them ffast, And the portcullis he lett downe.

16 And throug a garrett of the walls, Ouer Severne these words said hee; ‘Att these gates no man enter shall;’ But he kept him out a night and a day.

17 These words Mitton did Erle Richmond tell (I am sure the chronicles of this will not lye); But when l_ett_res came from S_i_r W_illia_m Stanley of the Holt castle, Then the gates were opened p_re_sentlye.

18 Then entred this towne the noble lord, The Erle Richmond, the rose soe redd; The Erle of Oxford, w_i_th a sword, Wold haue smitt of the bailiffes head.

19 ‘But hold yo_u_r hand,’ saies Erle Richmond, ‘Ffor his loue _tha_t dyed vpon a tree! Ffor if wee begin to head so soone, In England wee shall beare no degree.’

20 ‘What offence haue I made thee,’ sayd Erle Richmonde, ‘_Tha_t thou kept me out of my towne?’ ‘I know no king,’ sayd Mitton then, ‘But Rich_ard_ now, _tha_t weares the crowne.’

21 ‘Why, what wilt tho_u_ say,’ said Erle Richmonde, ‘When I haue put K_ing_ Richard downe?’ ‘Why, then Ile be as true to you, my lo_rd_, After the time _tha_t I am sworne.’

22 ‘Were itt not great pitty,’ sayd Erle Richmond, ‘_Tha_t such a man as this shold dye, Such loyall service by him done? (The cronickles of this will not lye.)

23 ‘Thou shalt not be harmed in any case;’ He p_ar_done[d] him p_re_sentlye; They stayd not past a night and a day, But towards Newp_or_t did they hye.

24 But [at] Attherston these lords did meete; A worthy sight itt was to see, How Erle Richmond tooke his hatt in his hand, And said, Cheshire and Lancashire, welcome to me!

25 But now is a bird of the egle taken; Ffrom the white bore he cannot fflee; Therfore the old egle makes great moane, And prayes to God most certainly.

26 ‘O stedfast God, verament,’ he did say, ‘Thre p_er_sons in one god in Trinytye, Saue my sonne, the young egle, this day Ffrom all ffalse craft and trecherye!’

27 Then the blew bore the vanward had; He was both warry and wise of witt; The right hand of them he tooke, The sunn and wind of them to gett.

28 Then the egle ffollowed fast vpon his pray, W_i_th sore dints he did them smyte; The talbott he bitt wonderous sore, Soe well the vnicorne did him quite.

29 And then came in the harts head; A worthy sight itt was to see, The iacketts _tha_t were of white and redd, How they laid about them lustilye.

30 But now is the ffeirce ffeeld foughten and ended, And the white bore there lyeth slaine, And the young egle is p_re_serued, And come to his nest againe.

31 But now this garden fflourishes ffreshly and gay, W_i_th ffragrant fflowers comely of hew, And gardners itt doth maintaine; I hope they will proue iust and true.

32 Our k_ing_, he is the rose soe redd, _Tha_t now does fflourish ffresh and gay: Confound his ffoes, Lo_rd_, wee beseeche, And loue His Grace both night and day!

* * * * *

10^4. Then better.

12^1. him is apparently altered from mim in the MS.: Furnivall.

14^4. shogged him.

17^3. cane for came.

26^2. 3.

29^3. They.

167

SIR ANDREW BARTON

#A.# ‘S_i_r Andrew Bartton,’ Percy MS. p. 490; Hales and Furnivall, III, 399.

#B.# ‘The Life and Death of Sir Andrew Barton,’ etc. #a.# Douce Ballads, I, 18 b. #b.# Pepys Ballads, I, 484, No 249. #c.# Wood Ballads, 401, 55. #d.# Roxburghe Ballads, I, 2; reprinted by the Ballad Society, I, 10. #e.# Bagford Ballads, 643, m. 9. (61). #f.# Bagford Ballads, 643, m. 10 (77). #g.# Wood Ballads, 402, 37. #h.# ‘Sir Andrew Barton,’ Glenriddell MSS, XI, 20.

Given in Old Ballads, 1723, I, 159; in Percy’s Reliques, 1765, II, 177, a copy made up from the Folio MS. and #B b#, with editorial emendations; Ritson’s Select Collection of English Songs, 1783, I, 313. #B f# is reprinted by Halliwell, Early Naval Ballads, Percy Society, vol. ii, p. 4, 1841; by Moore, Pictorial Book of Ancient Ballad Poetry, p. 256, 1853. There is a Bow-Churchyard copy, of no value, in the Roxburghe collection, III, 726, 727, dated in the Museum catalogue 1710.

A collation of #A# and #B# will show how ballads were retrenched and marred in the process of preparing them for the vulgar press.[205] #B a-g# clearly lack two stanzas after 11 (12, 13, of #A#). This omission is perhaps to be attributed to careless printing rather than to reckless cutting down, for the stanzas wanted are found in #h#. #h# is a transcript, apparently from recitation or dictation, of a Scottish broadside. It has but fifty-six stanzas, against the sixty-four of #B a# and the eighty-two of #A#, and is extremely corrupted. Besides the two stanzas not found in the English broadside, it has one more, after 50, which is perhaps borrowed from ‘Adam Bell’:

‘Foul fa the hands,’ says Horsley then, ‘This day that did that coat put on; For had it been as thin as mine, Thy last days had been at an end.’[206]

#A# has a regrettable gap after 35, and is corrupted at 29^2[207], 47^2.

In the year 1476 a Portuguese squadron seized a richly loaded ship commanded by John Barton, in consequence of which letters of reprisal were granted to Andrew, Robert, and John Barton, sons of John, and these letters were renewed in 1506,[208] “as no opportunity had occurred of effectuating a retaliation;” that is to say, as the Scots, up to the later date, had not been supplied with the proper vessels. The king of Portugal remonstrated against reprisals for so old an offence, but he had put himself in the wrong four years before by refusing to deal with a herald sent by the Scottish king for the arrangement of the matter in dispute. It is probable that there was justice on the Scottish side, “yet there is some reason to believe that the Bartons abused the royal favor, and the distance and impunity of the sea, to convert this retaliation into a kind of piracy against the Portuguese trade, at that time, by the discoveries and acquisitions in India, rendered the richest in the world.” All three of the brothers were men of note in the naval history of Scotland. Andrew is called Sir Andrew, perhaps, in imitation of Sir Andrew Wood; but his brother attained to be called Sir Robert.[209]

We may now hear what the writers who are nearest to the time have to say of the subject-matter of our ballad.

Hall’s Chronicle, 1548. In June [1511], the king being at Leicester, tidings were brought to him that Andrew Barton, a Scottish man and a pirate of the sea, saying that the king of Scots had war with the Portingales, did rob every nation, and so stopped the king’s streams that no merchants almost could pass, and when he took the Englishmen’s goods, he said they were Portingales’ goods, and thus he haunted and robbed at every haven’s mouth. The king, moved greatly with this crafty pirate, sent Sir Edmund Howard, Lord Admiral of England,[210] and Lord Thomas Howard, son and heir to the Earl of Surrey, in all the haste to the sea, which hastily made ready two ships, and without any more abode took the sea, and by chance of weather were severed. The Lord Howard, lying in the Downs, perceived where Andrew was making toward Scotland, and so fast the said lord chased him that he overtook him, and there was a sore battle. The Englishmen were fierce, and the Scots defended them manfully, and ever Andrew blew his whistle to encourage his men, yet for all that, the Lord Howard and his men, by clean strength, entered the main deck; then the Englishmen entered on all sides, and the Scots fought sore on the hatches, but in conclusion Andrew was taken, which was so sore wounded that he died there; then all the remnant of the Scots were taken, with their ship, called The Lion. All this while was the Lord Admiral in chase of the bark of Scotland called Jenny Pirwyn, which was wont to sail with The Lion in company, and so much did he with other that he laid him on board and fiercely assailed him, and the Scots, as hardy and well stomached men, them defended; but the Lord Admiral so encouraged his men that they entered the bark and slew many, and took all the other. Then were these two ships taken, and brought to Blackwall the second day of August, and all the Scots were sent to the Bishop’s place of York, and there remained, at the king’s charge, till other direction was taken for them. [They were released upon their owning that they deserved death for piracy, and appealing to the king’s mercy, says Hall.] The king of Scots, hearing of the death of Andrew of Barton and taking of his two ships, was wonderful wroth, and sent letters to the king requiring restitution according to the league and amity. The king wrote with brotherly salutations to the king of Scots of the robberies and evil doings of Andrew Barton, and that it became not one prince to lay a breach of a league to another prince in doing justice upon a pirate or thief, and that all the other Scots that were taken had deserved to die by justice if he had not extended his mercy. (Ed. of 1809, p. 525.)

Buchanan, about twenty years later, writes to this effect. Andrew Breton[211] was a Scots trader whose father had been cruelly put to death by the Portuguese, after they had plundered his ship. This outrage was committed within the dominion of Flanders, and the Flemish admiralty, upon suit of the son, gave judgment against the Portuguese; but the offending parties would not pay the indemnity, nor would their king compel them, though the king of Scots sent a herald to make the demand. The Scot procured from his master a letter of marque, to warrant him against charges of piracy and freebooting while prosecuting open war against the Portuguese for their violation of the law of nations, and in the course of a few months inflicted great loss on them. Portuguese envoys went to the English king and told him that this Andrew was a man of such courage and enterprise as would make him a dangerous enemy in the war then impending with the French, and that he could now be conveniently cut off, under cover of piracy, to the advantage of English subjects and the gratification of a friendly sovereign. Henry was easily persuaded, and dispatched his admiral, Thomas Howard,[212] with two of the strongest ships of the royal navy, to lie in wait at the Downs for Andrew, then on his way home from Flanders. They soon had sight of the Scot, in a small vessel, with a still smaller in company. Howard attacked Andrew’s ship, but, though the superior in all respects, was barely able to take it after the master and most of his men had been killed. The Scots captain, though several times wounded and with one leg broken by a cannon-ball, seized a drum and beat a charge to inspirit his men to fight until breath and life failed. The smaller ship was surrendered with less resistance, and the survivors of both vessels, by begging their lives of the king (as they were instructed to do by the English), obtained a discharge without punishment. The Scottish king made formal complaint of this breach of peace, but the answer was ready: the killing of pirates broke no leagues and furnished no decent ground for war. (Rer. Scot. Historia, 1582, fol. 149 b, 150.)

Bishop Lesley, writing at about the same time as Buchanan, openly accuses the English of fraud. “In the month of June,” he says, “Andrew Barton, being on the sea in warfare contrar the Portingals, against whom he had a letter of mark, Sir Edmund Howard, Lord Admiral of England, and Lord Thomas Howard, son and heir to the Earl of Surrey, past forth at the king of England’s command, with certain of his best ships; and the said Andrew, being in his voyage sailing toward Scotland, having only but one ship and a bark, they set upon at the Downs, and at the first entry did make sign unto them that there was friendship standing betwix the two realms, and therefore thought them to be friends; wherewith they, nothing moved, did cruelly invade, and he manfully and courageously defended, where there was many slain, and Andrew himself sore wounded, that he died shortly; and his ship, called The Lion, and the bark, called Jenny Pirrvyne, which, with the Scots men that was living, were had to London, and kept there as prisoners in the Bishop of Yorks house, and after was sent home in Scotland. When that the knowledge hereof came to the king, he sent incontinent a herald to the king of England, with letters requiring dress for the slaughter of Andrew Barton, with the ships to be rendered again; otherwise it might be an occasion to break the league and peace contracted between them. To the which it was answered by the king of England that the slaughter being a pirate, as he alleged, should be no break to the peace; yet not the less he should cause commissioners meet upon the borders, where they should treat upon that and all other enormities betwix the two realms.”[213] (History of Scotland, Edinburgh, 1830, p. 82 f.)

The ballad displaces Sir Thomas and Sir Edward Howard, and puts in their place Lord Charles Howard, who was not born till twenty-five years after the fight. Lord Charles Howard, son of William, a younger half-brother of Thomas and Edward, was, in his time, like them, Lord High Admiral, and had the honor of commanding the fleet which served against the Armada. He was created Earl of Nottingham in 1596, and this circumstance, adopted into #A# 78,[214] puts this excellent ballad later than one would have said, unless, as is quite possible, the name of the English commander has been changed. There is but one ship in the ballad, as there is but a single captain, but Henry Hunt makes up for the other when we come to the engagement. The dates are much deranged in #A#. The merchants make their complaint at midsummer, the summer solstice (in May, #B# 1), and here there is agreement with Hall and Lesley. The English ship sails the day before midsummer-even, #A# 17; the fight occurs not more than four days after (#A# 18, 33, 34; #B# 16, 31); four days is a large allowance for returning, but the ship sails into Thames mouth on the day before New Year’s even, #A# 71, 72, 74.[215] In #B# the English do not sail till winter, and although the interval from May is long for fitting out a ship, inconsistency is avoided. According to Hall, the English ships brought in their prizes August 2d.

#A.# King Henry Eighth, having been informed by eighty London merchants that navigation is stopped by a Scot who would rob them were they twenty ships to his one, asks if there is never a lord who will fetch him that traitor, and Lord Charles Howard volunteers for the service, he to be the only man. The king offers him six hundred fighting men, his choice of all the realm. Howard engages two noble marksmen, Peter Simon to be the head of a hundred gunners, and William Horsley to be the head of a hundred bowmen, and sails, resolved to bring in Sir Andrew and his ship, or never again come near his prince. On the third day he falls in with a fine ship commanded by Henry Hunt, and asks whether they have heard of Barton. Henry Hunt had been Barton’s prisoner the day before, and can give the best intelligence and advice. Barton is a terrible fellow; his ship is brass within and steel without; and although there is a deficiency at #A# 36, there is enough to show that it was not less magnificent than strong, 36^2, 75^2. He has a pinnace of thirty guns, and the voluble and not too coherent Hunt makes it a main point to sink this pinnace first. But above all, Barton carries beams in his topcastle, and with these, if he can drop them, his own ship is a match for twenty;[216] therefore, let no man go to his topcastle. Hunt borrows some guns from Lord Howard, trusting to be forgiven for breaking the oath upon which he had been released by his captor the day before, and sets a ‘glass’ (lantern?) to guide Howard’s ship to Barton’s, which they see the next day. Barton is lying at anchor, 45^3, 46^1; the English ship, feigning to be a merchantman, passes him without striking topsails or topmast, ‘stirring neither top nor mast.’ Sir Andrew has been admiral on the sea for more than three years, and no Englishman or Portingal passes without his leave: he orders his pinnace to bring the pedlars back; they shall hang at his main-mast tree. The pinnace fires on Lord Howard and brings down his foremast and fifteen of his men, but Simon sinks the pinnace with one discharge, which, to be sure, includes nine yards of chain besides other great shot, less and more. Sir Andrew cuts his ropes to go for the pedlar himself. Lord Howard throws off disguise, sounds drums and trumpets, and spreads his ensign. Simon’s son shoots and kills sixty; the perjured Henry Hunt comes in on the other side, brings down the foremast, and kills eighty. One wonders that Barton’s guns do not reply; in fact he never fires a shot; but then he has that wonderful apparatus of the beams, which, whether mechanically perfect or not, is worked well by the poet, for not many better passages are met with in ballad poetry than that which tells of the three gallant attempts on the main-mast tree, 52–66. Sir Andrew had not taken the English archery into his reckoning. Gordon, the first man to mount, is struck through the brain; so is James Hamilton, Barton’s sister’s son. Sir Andrew dons his armor of proof and goes up himself. Horsley hits him under his arm; Barton will not loose his hold, but a second mortal wound forces him to come down. He calls on his men to fight on; he will lie and bleed awhile, and then rise and fight again; “fight on for Scotland and St Andrew, while you hear my whistle blow!” Soon the whistle is mute, and they know that Barton is dead; the English board; Howard strikes off Sir Andrew’s head, while the Scots stand by weeping, and throws the body over the side, with three hundred crowns about the middle to secure it a burial. So Jon Rimaardssøn binds three bags about his body when he jumps into the sea, saying, He shall not die poor that will bury my body: Danske Viser, II, 225, st. 30. Lord Howard sails back to England, and is royally welcomed. England before had but one ship of war, and Sir Andrew’s made the second, says the ballad, but therein seems to be less than historically accurate: see Southey’s Lives of the British Admirals, 1833, II, 171, note. Hunt, Horsley, and Simon are generously rewarded, and Howard is made Earl of Nottingham. When King Henry sees Barton’s ghastly head, he exclaims that he would give a hundred pounds if the man were alive as he is dead: ambiguous words, which one would prefer not to interpret by the later version of the ballad, in which Henry is eager himself to give the doom, #B# 58; nor need we, for in the concluding stanza the king, in recognition of the manful part that he hath played, both here and beyond the sea, says that each of Barton’s men shall have half a crown a day to take them home.

The variations of #B#, as to the story, are of slight importance. There is no pinnace in #B#. Horsley’s shots are somewhat better arranged: Gordon is shot under the collar-bone, the nephew through the heart; the first arrow rebounds from Barton’s armor, the second smites him to the heart. ‘Until you hear my whistle blow,’ in 53^4, is a misconception, coming from not understanding that till (as in #A# 66^4) may mean while.

The copy in Percy’s Reliques is translated by Von Marées, p. 88.

Percy MS., p. 490; Hales and Furnivall, III, 399.

1 As itt beffell in m[i]dsumer-time, When burds singe sweetlye on euery tree, Our noble k_ing_, K_ing_ Henery the Eighth, Ouer the riuer of Thames past hee.

2 Hee was no sooner ouer the riuer, Downe in a fforrest to take the ayre, But eighty merchants of London cittye Came kneeling before K_ing_ Henery there.

3 ‘O yee are welcome, rich merchants, [Good saylers, welcome unto me!’] They swore by the rood the were saylers good, But rich merchants they cold not bee.

4 ‘To Ffrance nor Fflanders dare we nott passe, Nor Burdeaux voyage wee dare not ffare, And all ffor a ffalse robber _tha_t lyes on the seas, And robb[s] vs of our merchants-ware.’

5 K_ing_ Henery was stout, and he turned him about, And swore by the Lord _tha_t was mickle of might, ‘I thought he had not beene in the world throughout _Tha_t durst haue wrought England such vnright.’

6 But euer they sighed, and said, alas! Vnto K_ing_ Harry this answere againe: ‘He is a proud Scott _tha_t will robb vs all If wee were twenty shipps and hee but one.’

7 The k_ing_ looket ouer his left shoulder, Amongst his lords and barrons soe ffree: ‘Haue I neuer lo_rd_ in all my realme Will ffeitch yond traitor vnto mee?’

8 ‘Yes, _tha_t dare I!’ sayes my lo_rd_ Chareles Howard, Neere to the k_ing_ wheras hee did stand; ‘If _tha_t Yo_u_r Grace will giue me leaue, My selfe wilbe the only man.’

9 ‘Thou shalt haue six hundred men,’ saith our k_ing_, ‘And chuse them out of my realme soe ffree; Besids marriners and boyes, To guide the great shipp on the sea.’

10 ‘I’le goe speake w_i_th S_i_r Andrew,’ sais Ch_arles_, my lo_rd_ Haward; ‘Vpon the sea, if hee be there; I will bring him and his shipp to shore, Or before my prince I will neu_er_ come neere.’

11 The ffirst of all my lo_rd_ did call, A noble gunner hee was one; This man was three score yeeres and ten, And Peeter Simon was his name.

12 ‘Peeter,’ sais hee, ‘I must sayle to the sea, To seeke out an enemye; God be my speed!’ Before all others I haue chosen thee; Of a hundred guners thoust be my head.’

13 ‘My lo_rd_,’ sais hee, ‘if you haue chosen mee Of a hundred gunners to be the head, Hange me att yo_u_r maine-mast tree If I misse my marke past three pence bread.’

14 The next of all my lo_rd_ he did call, A noble bowman hee was one; In Yorekeshire was this gentleman borne, And William Horsley was his name.

15 ‘Horsley,’ sayes hee, ‘I must sayle to the sea, To seeke out an enemye; God be my speede! Before all others I haue chosen thee; Of a hundred bowemen thoust be my head.’

16 ‘My lo_rd_,’ sais hee, ‘if you haue chosen mee Of a hundred bowemen to be the head, Hang me att yo_u_r mainemast-tree If I misse my marke past twelue pence bread.’

17 W_i_th pikes, and gunnes, and bowemen bold, This noble Howard is gone to the sea On the day before midsummer-euen, And out att Thames mouth sayled they.

18 They had not sayled dayes three Vpon their iourney they tooke in hand, But there they mett w_i_th a noble shipp, And stoutely made itt both stay and stand.

19 ‘Thou must tell me thy name,’ sais Ch_arles_, my lo_rd_ Haward, ‘Or who thou art, or ffrom whence thou came, Yea, and where thy dwelling is, To whom and where thy shipp does belong.’

20 ‘My name,’ sayes hee, ‘is Henery Hunt, W_i_th a pure hart and a penitent mind; I and my shipp they doe belong Vnto the New-castle _tha_t stands vpon Tine.’

21 ‘Now thou must tell me, Harry Hunt, As thou hast sayled by day and by night, Hast thou not heard of a stout robber? Men calls him S_i_r Andrew Bartton, k_nigh_t.’

22 But euer he sighed, and sayd, Alas! Ffull well, my lo_rd_, I know _tha_t wight; He robd me of my merchants ware, And I was his prisoner but yesternight.

23 As I was sayling vppon the sea, And [a] Burdeaux voyage as I did ffare, He clasped me to his archborde, And robd me of all my merchants-ware.

24 And I am a man both poore and bare, And euery man will haue his owne of me, And I am bound towards London to ffare, To complaine to my prince Henerye.

25 ‘_Tha_t shall not need,’ sais my lo_rd_ Haward; ‘If thou canst lett me this robber see, Ffor euery peny he hath taken thee ffroe, Thou shalt be rewarded a shilling,’ q_uo_th hee.

26 ‘Now God fforefend,’ saies Henery Hunt, ‘My lo_rd_, you shold worke soe ffarr amisse! God keepe you out of _tha_t traitors hands! For you wott ffull litle what a man hee is.

27 ‘Hee is brasse w_i_thin, and steele w_i_thout, And beames hee beares in his topcastle stronge; His shipp hath ordinance cleane round about; Besids, my lo_rd_, hee is verry well mand.

28 ‘He hath a pinnace, is deerlye dight, S_ain_t Andrews crosse, _tha_t is his guide; His pinnace beares nine score men and more, Besids fifteen cannons on euery side.

29 ‘If you were twenty shippes, and he but one, Either in archbord or in hall, He wold ouercome you euerye one, And if his beames they doe downe ffall.’

30 ‘This is cold comfort,’ sais my Lord Haward, ‘To wellcome a stranger thus to the sea; I’le bring him and his shipp to shore, Or else into Scottland hee shall carrye mee.’

31 ‘Then you must gett a noble gunner, my lo_rd_, _Tha_t can sett well w_i_th his eye, And sinke his pinnace into the sea, And soone then ou_er_come will hee bee.

32 ‘And when _tha_t you haue done this, If you chance S_i_r Andrew for to bord, Lett no man to his topcastle goe; And I will giue you a glasse, my lord,

33 ‘And then you need to ffeare no Scott, Whether you sayle by day or by night; And to-morrow, by seuen of the clocke, You shall meete w_i_th S_i_r Andrew Bartton, k_night_.

34 ‘I was his prisoner but yester night, And he hath taken mee sworne,’ q_uo_th hee; ‘I trust my L[ord] God will me fforgiue And if _tha_t oath then broken bee.

35 ‘You must lend me sixe peeces, my l_ord_,’ q_uo_th hee, ‘Into my shipp, to sayle the sea, And to-morrow, by nine of the clocke, Yo_u_r Hono_u_r againe then will I see.’

* * * * *

36 And the hache-bord where S_i_r Andrew lay Is hached w_i_th gold deerlye dight: ‘Now by my ffaith,’ sais Ch_arles_, my lo_rd_ Haward, ‘Then yonder Scott is a worthye wight!

37 ‘Take in yo_u_r ancyents and yo_u_r standards, Yea _tha_t no man shall them see, And put me fforth a white willow wand, As merchants vse to sayle the sea.’

38 But they stirred neither top nor mast, But S_i_r Andrew they passed by: ‘Whatt English are yonder,’ said S_i_r Andrew, ‘_Tha_t can so litle curtesye?

39 ‘I haue beene admirall ouer the sea More then these yeeres three; There is neu_er_ an English dog, nor Portingall, Can passe this way w_i_thout leaue of mee.

40 ‘But now yonder pedlers, they are past, _Whi_ch is no litle greffe to me: Ffeich them backe,’ sayes S_i_r Andrew Bartton, ‘They shall all hang att my maine-mast tree.’

41 W_i_th _tha_t the pinnace itt shott of, _Tha_t my Lo_rd_ Haward might itt well ken; Itt stroke downe my lords fforemast, And killed fourteen of my lo_rd_ his men.

42 ‘Come hither, Simon!’ sayes my lo_rd_ Haward, ‘Looke _tha_t thy words be true thou sayd; I’le hang thee att my maine-mast tree If thou misse thy marke past twelue pence bread.’

43 Simon was old, but his hart itt was bold; Hee tooke downe a peece, and layd itt ffull lowe; He put in chaine yeards nine, Besids other great shott lesse and more.

44 W_i_th _tha_t hee lett his gun-shott goe; Soe well hee settled itt w_i_th his eye, The ffirst sight _tha_t S_i_r Andrew sawe, Hee see his pinnace sunke in the sea.

45 When hee saw his pinace sunke, Lord! in his hart hee was not well: ‘Cutt my ropes! itt is time to be gon! I’le goe ffeitch yond pedlers backe my selfe!’

46 When my lo_rd_ Haward saw S_i_r Andrew loose, Lord! in his hart _tha_t hee was ffaine: ‘Strike on yo_u_r drummes! spread out yo_u_r ancyents! Sound out yo_u_r trumpetts! sound out amaine!’

47 ‘Ffight on, my men!’ sais S_i_r Andrew Bartton; ‘Weate, howsoeu_er_ this geere will sway, Itt is my lo_rd_ Adm[i]rall of England Is come to seeke mee on the sea.’

48 Simon had a sonne; w_i_th shott of a gunn— Well S_i_r Andrew might itt ken— He shott itt in att a priuye place, And killed sixty more of S_i_r Andrews men.

49 Harry Hunt came in att the other syde, And att S_i_r Andrew hee shott then; He droue downe his fformast-tree, And killed eighty more of S_i_r Andriwes men.

50 ‘I haue done a good turne,’ sayes Harry Hunt; ‘S_i_r Andrew is not our k_ing_s ffreind; He hoped to haue vndone me yesternight, But I hope I haue quitt him well in the end.’

51 ‘Euer alas!’ sayd S_i_r Andrew Barton, ‘What shold a man either thinke or say? Yonder ffalse theeffe is my strongest enemye, Who was my prisoner but yesterday.

52 ‘Come hither to me, thou Gourden good, And be thou readye att my call, And I will giue thee three hundred pound If thou wilt lett my beames downe ffall.’

53 W_i_th _tha_t hee swarued the maine-mast tree, Soe did he itt w_i_th might and maine; Horseley, w_i_th a bearing arrow, Stroke the Gourden through the braine.

54 And he ffell into the haches againe, And sore of this wound _tha_t he did bleed; Then word went throug S_i_r Andrews men, _Tha_t the Gourden hee was dead.

55 ‘Come hither to me, Iames Hambliton, Thou art my sisters sonne, I haue no more; I will giue [thee] six hundred pound If thou will lett my beames downe ffall.’

56 With _tha_t hee swarued the maine-mast tree, Soe did hee itt w_i_th might and maine: Horseley, w_i_th another broad arrow, Strake the yeaman through the braine.

57 _Tha_t hee ffell downe to the haches againe; Sore of his wound _tha_t hee did bleed; Couetousness getts no gaine, Itt is verry true, as the Welchman sayd.

58 But when hee saw his sisters sonne slaine, Lo_rd_! in his heart hee was not well: ‘Goe ffeitch me downe my armour of proue, Ffor I will to the topcastle my-selfe.

59 ‘Goe ffeitch me downe my armour of prooffe, For itt is guilded w_i_th gold soe cleere; God be w_i_th my brother, Iohn of Bartton! Amongst the Portingalls hee did itt weare.’

60 But when hee had his armour of prooffe, And on his body hee had itt on, Euery man _tha_t looked att him Sayd, Gunn nor arrow hee neede feare none.

61 ‘Come hither, Horsley!’ sayes my lo_rd_ Haward, ‘And looke yo_u_r shaft _tha_t itt goe right; Shoot a good shoote in the time of need, And ffor thy shooting thoust be made a k_nigh_t.’

62 ‘I’le doe my best,’ sayes Horslay then, ‘Yo_u_r Honor shall see beffore I goe; If I shold be hanged att yo_u_r mainemast, I haue in my shipp but arrowes tow.’

63 But att S_i_r Andrew hee shott then; Hee made sure to hitt his marke; Vnder the spole of his right arme Hee smote S_i_r Andrew quite throw the hart.

64 Yett ffrom the tree hee wold not start, But hee clinged to itt w_i_th might and maine; Vnder the coller then of his iacke, He stroke S_i_r Andrew thorrow the braine.

65 ‘Ffight on my men,’ sayes Sir Andrew Bartton, ‘I am hurt, but I am not slaine; I’le lay mee downe and bleed a-while, And then I’le rise and ffight againe.

66 ‘Ffight on my men,’ sayes S_i_r Andrew Bartton, ‘These English doggs they bite soe lowe; Ffight on ffor Scottland and S_ain_t Andrew Till you heare my whistle blowe!’

67 But when the cold not heare his whistle blow, Sayes Harry Hunt, I’le lay my head You may bord yonder noble shipp, my lo_rd_, For I know S_i_r Andrew hee is dead.

68 W_i_th _tha_t they borded this noble shipp, Soe did they itt w_i_th might and maine; The ffound eighteen score Scotts aliue, Besids the rest were maimed and slaine.

69 My lo_rd_ Haward tooke a sword in his hand, And smote of S_i_r Andrews head; The Scotts stood by did weepe and mourne, But neu_er_ a word durst speake or say.

70 He caused his body to be taken downe, And ou_er_ the hatch-bord cast into the sea, And about his middle three hundred crownes: ‘Whersoeuer thou lands, itt will bury thee.’

71 W_i_th his head they sayled into England againe, W_i_th right good will, and fforce and main, And the day beffore Newyeeres euen Into Thames mouth they came againe.

72 My lo_rd_ Haward wrote to K_ing_ Heneryes grace, W_i_th all the newes hee cold him bring: ‘Such a Newyeeres gifft I haue brought to yo_u_r Gr[ace] As neu_er_ did subiect to any king.

73 ‘Ffor merchandyes and manhood, The like is nott to be ffound; The sight of these wold doe you good, Ffor you haue not the like in yo_u_r English ground.’

74 But when hee heard tell _tha_t they were come, Full royally hee welcomed them home; S_i_r Andrews shipp was the k_ing_s Newyeeres guifft; A brauer shipp you neu_er_ saw none.

75 Now hath our k_ing_ S_i_r Andrews shipp, Besett w_i_th pearles and p_re_cyous stones; Now hath England two shipps of warr, Two shipps of warr, before but one.

76 ‘Who holpe to this?’ sayes K_ing_ Henerye, ‘_Tha_t I may reward him ffor his paine:’ ‘Harry Hunt, and Peeter Simon, William Horseleay, and I the same.’

77 ‘Harry Hunt shall haue his whistle and chaine, And all his iewells, whatsoeuer they bee, And other rich giffts _tha_t I will not name, For his good service he hath done mee.

78 ‘Horslay, right thoust be a k_nigh_t, Lands and liuings thou shalt haue store; Howard shalbe erle of Nottingham, And soe was neuer Haward before.

79 ‘Now, Peeter Simon, thou art old; I will maintaine thee and thy sonne; Thou shalt haue fiue hundred pound all in gold Ffor the good service _tha_t thou hast done.’

80 Then K_ing_ Henerye shiffted his roome; In came the Queene and ladyes bright; Other arrands they had none But to see S_i_r Andrew Bartton, k_nigh_t.

81 But when they see his deadly fface, His eyes were hollow in his head; ‘I wold giue a hundred pound,’ sais K_ing_ Henerye, ‘The man were aliue as hee is dead!

82 ‘Yett ffor the manfull p_ar_t _tha_t hee hath playd, Both heere and beyond the sea, His men shall haue halfe a crowne a day To bring them to my brother, K_ing_ Iamye.’

#a.# Douce Ballads, I, 18 b. #b.# Pepys Ballads, I, 484, No 249. #c.# Wood Ballads, 401, 55. #d.# Roxburghe Ballads, I, 2. #e.# Bagford Ballads, 643, m. 9 (61). #f.# Bagford Ballads, 643, m. 10 (77). #g.# Wood Ballads, 402, 37. #h.# Glenriddell MSS, XI, 20.

1 When Flora, with her fragrant flowers, Bedeckt the earth so trim and gay, And Neptune, with his dainty showers, Came to present the month of May,

2 King Henry would a progress ride; Over the river of Thames past he, Unto a mountain-top also Did walk, some pleasure for to see.

3 Where forty merchants he espy’d, With fifty sail, come towards him, Who then no sooner were arriv’d, But on their knees did thus complain.

4 ‘An’t please Your Grace, we cannot sail To France no voyage, to be sure, But Sir Andrew Barton makes us quail, And robs us of our merchant-ware.’

5 Vext was the king, and turned him, Said to the lords of high degree, Have I ner a lord within my realm Dare fetch that traytor unto me?

6 To him repli’d Lord Charles Howard: I will, my liege, with heart and hand; If it please you grant me leave, he said, I will perform what you command.

7 To him then spake King Henry: I fear, my lord, you are too young. ‘No whit at all, my liege,’ quoth he; ‘I hope to prove in valour strong.

8 ‘The Scottish knight I vow to seek, In what place soever he be, And bring a shore, with all his might, Or into Scotland he shall carry me.’

9 ‘A hundred men,’ the king then said, ‘Out of my realm shall chosen be, Besides saylors and ship-boys To guide a great ship on the sea.

10 ‘Bow-men and gunners of good skill Shall for this service chosen be, And they at thy command and will In all affairs shall wait on thee.’

11 Lord Howard calld a gunner then Who was the best in all the realm; His age was threescore years and ten, And Peter Simon was his name.

12 My lord calld then a bow-man rare, Whose active hands had gained fame, A gentleman born in Yorkshire, And William Horsly was his name.

13 ‘Horsly,’ quoth he, ‘I must to sea, To seek a traytor, with great speed; Of a hundred bow-men brave,’ quoth he, ‘I have chosen thee to be the head.’

14 ‘If you, my lord, have chosen me Of a hundred men to be the head, Upon the main-mast I’le hanged be, If twelve-score I miss one shillings breadth.’

15 Lord Howard then, of courage bold, Went to the sea with pleasant chear, Not curbd with winters piercing cold, Though it was the stormy time of the year.

16 Not long he had been on the sea, No more in days then number three, Till one Henry Hunt he there espied, A merchant of Newcastle was he.

17 To him Lord Howard cald out amain, And strictly charged him to stand; Demanding then from whence he came, Or where he did intend to land.

18 The merchant then made him answer soon, With heavy heart and careful mind, ‘My lord, my ship it doth belong Unto Newcastle upon Tine.’

19 ‘Canst thou shew me,’ the lord did say, ‘As thou didst sail by day and night, A Scottish rover on the sea, His name is Andrew Barton, knight? ’

20 Then to him the merchant sighd and said, With grieved mind and well a way, ‘But over well I know that wight, I was his prisoner but yesterday.

21 ‘As I, my lord, did pass from France, A Burdeaux voyage to take so far, I met with Sir Andrew Barton thence, Who robd me of my merchant-ware.

22 ‘And mickle debts, God knows, I owe, And every man did crave his own; And I am bound to London now, Of our gracious king to beg a boon.’

23 ‘Shew me him,’ said [Lord] Howard then, ‘Let me but once the villain see, And one penny he hath from the tane, I’le double the same with shillings three.’

24 ‘Now, God forbid,’ the merchant said; ‘I fear your aim that you will miss; God bless you from his tyranny, For little you know what man he is.

25 ‘He is brass within and steel without, His ship most huge and mighty strong, With eighteen pieces strong and stout, He carrieth on each side along.

26 ‘With beams for his top-castle, As also being huge and high, That neither English nor Portugal Can pass Sir Andrew Barton by.’

27 ‘Hard news thou shewst,’ then said the lord, ‘To welcome strangers to the sea; But, as I said, I’le bring him aboard, Or into Scotland he shall carry me.’

28 The merchant said, If you will do so, Take counsel, then, I pray withal: Let no man to his top-castle go, Nor strive to let his beam[s] down fall.

29 ‘Lend me seven pieces of ordnance then, Of each side of my ship,’ quoth he, ‘And to-morrow, my lord, twixt six and seven, Again I will Your Honour see.

30 ‘A glass I’le set that may be seen Whether you sail by day or night; And to-morrow, be sure, before seven, You shall see Sir Andrew Barton, knight.’

31 The merchant set my lord a glass, So well apparent in his sight That on the morrow, as his promise was, He saw Sir Andrew Barton, knight.

32 The lord then swore a mighty oath, ‘Now by the heavens that be of might, By faith, believe me, and by troth, I think he is a worthy knight.

33 ‘Fetch me my lyon out of hand,’ Saith the lord, ‘with rose and streamer high; Set up withal a willow-wand, That merchant-like I [may] pass by.’

34 Thus bravely did Lord Howard pass, And did on anchor rise so high; No top-sail at all he cast, But as his foe he did him defie.

35 Sir Andrew Barton seeing him Thus scornfully to pass by, As though he cared not a pin For him and all his company,

36 Then called he his men amain, ‘Fetch back yon pedler now,’ quoth he, ‘And against this way he comes again I’le teach him well his courtesie.’

37 A piece of ordnance soon was shot By this proud pirate fiercely then Into Lord Howards middle deck, Which cruel shot killd fourteen men.

38 He calld then Peter Simon, he: ‘Look now thy word do stand in stead, For thou shalt be hanged on main-mast If thou miss twelve score one penny breadth.’

39 Then Peter Simon gave a shot Which did Sir Andrew mickle scare, In at his deck it came so hot, Killd fifteen of his men of war.

40 ‘Alas!’ then said the pyrate stout, ‘I am in danger now, I see; This is some lord, I greatly doubt, That is set on to conquer me.’

41 Then Henry Hunt, with rigor hot, Came bravely on the other side, Who likewise shot in at his deck, And kild fifty of his men beside.

42 Then ‘Out, alas!’ Sir Andrew cri’d, ‘What may a man now think or say! Yon merchant thief that pierceth me, He was my prisoner yesterday.’

43 Then did he on Gordion call, Unto top-castle for to go, And bid his beams he should let fall, ‘For I greatly fear an overthrow.’

44 The lord cald Horsly now in hast: ‘Look that thy word stand now in stead, For thou shalt be hanged on main-mast If thou miss twelve score one shillings breadth.’

45 Then up [the] mast-tree swarved he, This stout and mighty Gordion; But Horsly, he most happily Shot him under the collar-bone.

46 Then calld he on his nephew then, Said, Sisters sons I have no mo; Three hundred pound I will give thee, If thou wilt to top-castle go.

47 Then stoutly he began to climb, From off the mast scornd to depart; But Horsly soon prevented him, And deadly piercd him to the heart.

48 His men being slain, then up amain Did this proud pyrate climb with speed, For armour of proof he had put on, And did not dint of arrow dread.

49 ‘Come hither, Horsly,’ said the lord, ‘See thine arrow aim aright; Great means to thee I will afford, And if you speed, I’le make you a knight.’

50 Sir Andrew did climb up the tree, With right good will and all his main; Then upon the breast hit Horsly he, Till the arrow did return again.

51 Then Horsly spied a private place, With a perfect eye, in a secret part; His arrow swiftly flew apace, And smote Sir Andrew to the heart.

52 ‘Fight on, fight on, my merry men all, A little I am hurt, yet not slain; I’le but lie down and bleed a while, And come and fight with you again.

53 ‘And do not,’ he said, ‘fear English rogues, And of your foes stand not in awe, But stand fast by St Andrews cross, Until you hear my whistle blow.’

54 They never heard his whistle blow, Which made them [all] sore afraid: Then Horsly said, My lord, aboard, For now Sir Andrew Barton’s dead.

55 Thus boarded they this gallant ship, With right good will and all their main, Eighteen score Scots alive in it, Besides as many more were slain.

56 The lord went where Sir Andrew lay, And quickly thence cut off his head: ‘I should forsake England many a day, If thou wert alive as thou art dead.’

57 Thus from the wars Lord Howard came, With mickle joy and triumphing; The pyrates head he brought along For to present unto our king:

58 Who briefly then to him did say, Before he knew well what was done, ‘Where is the knight and pyrate gay? That I my self may give the doom.’

59 You may thank God,’ then said the lord, ‘And four men in the ship,’ quoth he, ‘That we are safely come ashore, Sith you had never such an enemy:

60 ‘That is Henry Hunt, and Peter Simon, William Horsly, and Peters son; Therefore reward them for their pains, For they did service at their turn.’

61 To the merchant then the king did say, ‘In lue of what he hath from the tane, I give to the a noble a day, Sir Andrews whistle and his chain:

62 ‘To Peter Simon a crown a day, And half-a-crown a day to Peters son, And that was for a shot so gay, Which bravely brought Sir Andrew down.

63 ‘Horsly, I will make thee a knight, And in Yorkshire thou shalt dwell: Lord Howard shall Earl Bury hight, For this title he deserveth well.

64 ‘Seven shillings to our English men, Who in this fight did stoutly stand, And twelve pence a-day to the Scots, till they Come to my brother kings high land.’

* * * * *

All the copies in stanzas of eight lines.

#A.#

1^3. 8[th .].

2^3. 80.

3^2. MS. pared away. From the Reliques. Percy’s marginal reading is For sailors good are welcome to me. The tops of letters left do not suit either of Percy’s lines, says Furnivall.

3^3. swore: MS. pared away. Percy’s reading.

6^4. 20.

9^1. 600.

11^3. 60: #B#, three score.

12^4, 13^2, 15^4, 16^2. 100^ḍ, 100.

13^4, 18^1. 3.

16^2. they for the.

16^4, 42^4. 12^[d:].

15^1. sayes, a letter blotted out before a: Furnivall.

20^2. poor would read better than pure (cf. #B#, 18^2, heavy heart), but is not satisfactory.

23^3. archborde for hachborde?: cf. 36^1, 70^2.

27^2, 29^4, 52^4, 55^4. beanes, or beaues.

28^3. 9.

28^4. 15.

29^1. 20.

29^2. charke-bord: should perhaps be hachbord.

33^1. fferae.

33^3. 7.

35^3, 43^3. 9.

36 is perhaps out of place.

36^1. lies for lay?

37. Part II.

41^1. they for the.

41^3. strokes.

44^4. sumke.

47^2. Weate I cannot emend.

48^4. 60.

49^3. fformost.

49^4. 80: Andirwes.

52^3. 300[li :].

53^1, 56^1. perhaps swarned: Furnivall.

55^3. 600[li .].

57^{3,4}. three follows four: transposed for rhyme.

64^4. they for the.

65^4. Only half the n of againe in the MS.: Furnivall.

68^3. 18.

70^3. 300.

71^2. meanye for main.

71^4. againe they came.

75^{3,4}. 2.

76^2. paime.

79^3. 500[li .].

81^3. 100[li :].

#B. a.#

The Relation of the life and death of Sir Andrew Barton, a Pyrate and Rover on the Seas.

The tune is, Come follow my love.

Printed for F. Coles, T. Vere, and J. Wright [1655–80].

13^1. ly in Horsly is worn or torn away, and so is to in the next line.

20^3. But ever.

24^1. the Lord he: #c#, #g#, my Lord he: the others, the merchant.

26^4. Can S. A. B. pass by. So all but #h#.

28^4. beam.

33, 34 follow 36.

38^2. to for do.

45^2. Thus.

47^3. Cut off: supplied from #b#, #c#.

53^3. Sir Andrews, and so #b#, #c#, #d#.

54^2. all supplied from #c#.

63^3. bright for hight.

64^3. ey of they cut off, and land in the following line.

#b.#

A True Relation, etc. Tune is, etc.

Printed for J. Wright, J. Clarke, W. Thackeray, and T. Passinger [1670–82?].

From a transcript made for Bishop Percy, who has in a few places made corrections which are not always easily distinguished from those of the copyist.

5^2. to his.

10^1. great changed to good.

13^2. To seek: good speed.

14^4. Of: I wanting.

15^4. was stormy.

16^3. But one: there he ‘spy’d.

17^4. did inserted by Percy, but perhaps in the text.

18^1. him wanting.

20^3. over well.

20^4. but wanting.

21^1. did sail.

22^1. deps.

23^1. [Lord] wanting.

24^1. the merchant.

25^3. pieces of ordnance.

28^4. beams.

29^3. twix.

33, 34 follow 36.

33^4. [may] wanting.

36^1. is men.

36^3. And again.

38^2. to for do.

38^4, 44^4. breath.

44^4. a shilling.

47^3. But Horsly soon prevented him.

49^4. if thou.

53^1. said he.

53^3. Sir: corrected by Percy to St.

54^1. hear.

54^2. [all] wanting.

57^4. unto the.

59^4. never wanting.

61^2. lieu.

63^2. shall.

63^3. hight.

64^3. they.

64^4. land.

#c.#

A true Relation, etc. The tune is, etc.

Printed for F. Coles, T. Vere, and W. Gilbertson. [1648–80. Coles, Vere, Wright, and Gilbertson are found together as early as 1655.]

4^1. An’t like.

5^3. lord in all.

8^2. In place wheresoever.

8^3. on shore.

11^3. year.

13^2. To see.

14^3. the wanting.

18^1. him wanting.

20^3. ever: knew.

21^3. with wanting.

21^4. wares.

23^2. that villain.

24^1. my Lord he.

24^4. you little know.

26^1. for her.

31^2. to his.

33, 34 follow 36.

33^2. streamers.

34^2. ride for rise.

35^3. Although.

36^1. he on.

36^3. come.

38^2. do stand.

39^2. care for scare.

39^4. fifty.

41^3. shot it.

41^4. five for fifty.

42^4. but yesterday.

44^4. shilling bred.

45^1. then swarded he.

46^2. son: no more.

47^3. As in #b#.

49^2. that thine.

49^4. a wanting.

53^3. Sir Andrews.

54^2. them all sore.

57^3. he wanting.

59^3. are come safely to the shore.

62^2. half crown.

63^2. there shalt thou.

63^3. hight.

63^4. he hath deserved.

64^2. to this.

#d#, #e#, #f#.

Title as in #b.# Tune, Come follow my love, etc.

#d.#

Printed by and for W. O[nley], and sold by the Booksellers of Pye-corner and London-Bridge. [1650–1702.]

#e.#

Printed by and for W. O., and sold by C. Bates at the Sun and Bible in Pye-corner.

#f.#

Printed by and for W. O., and sold by the booksellers.

#d# and #e# are dated in the Museum Catalogue 1670; #f.# 1672.

2^1. a hunting.

5^1. turning.

5^2. #d#, #e#. to his.

6^1. Charles Lord Howard.

7^1. #d#, #e#. speak, #f.# spoke.

8^1. Scotch.

13^2. with good.

15^4. the wanting.

16^1. #f.# the wanting.

16^2. #f.# no wanting.

16^3. But one: there he.

18^1. him wanting.

20^1. to him wanting.

20^3. over well.

20^4. but wanting.

21^1. did sail.

22^2. doth: but And means if.

23^1. Lord Howard.

23^2. but wanting.

23^3. And e’ry.

24^1. the merchant.

24^4. you think.

25^3. pieces of ordnance.

27^2. stranger.

28^4. beams.

29^3. twixt six and seven wanting.

30^1. #d#, #e#. set as. #f.# I set as.

33, 34 follow 36.

33^4. I may.

34^2. did wanting.

34^3. at last.

34^4. as a foe did.

36^3. And ere.

37^2. #e.# By his.

38^2. how thy word do.

38^3. shall.

38^4. #f.# breath.

40^3. greatly fear.

43^2. Unto the.

43^4. For he: feard.

44^2. #d#, #e#. now stand. #f.# now wanting.

44^4. #d#, #e#. a shilling, #f#. shilling’s breath.

45^1. swerved.

45^4. #f.# under his.

47^3. As in #b#, #c#.

48^4. arrows.

49^2. See thou thy arrows.

49^4. if thou speedst: make the[e] knight.

52^4. #f.# with wanting.

53^1. he said.

53^2. #e.# inwe.

53^3. Sir Andrews.

54^2. all full sore.

56^4. were.

58^1. unto for then to.

59^4. never had.

61^1. #f.# merchant therefore the king he said.

63^3. hight.

63^4. #e.# this girle. #f.# this act.

64^1. #f.# Ninety pound.

#g.#

A true Relation, etc. To the tune of Come follow me, love.

London, Printed for E. W.

This copy has been considerably corrected, and only a part of the variations is given.

2^2. of wanting.

2^3. mountaines.

3^2. with swiftest.

4^1. An’t like.

5^2. to his.

5^3. in all my.

11^4. One for And.

14^4. shilling.

16^2. No more then dayes in number three.

18^1. him wanting.

20^1. said and sighd.

20^2. a g. m. and a w.

20^3. over.

20^4. For I.

21^3. with wanting.

23^1. Lord Howard.

23^2. that for the.

23^3. for one.

24^1. my Lord, quoth he.

26^1. beams from her.

28^4. beames.

32^4. weight (that is, wight) for knight.

33^2. streamers.

33^4. I may.

34^2. ride.

34^4. he wanting.

35, 36 wanting.

38^2. do stand.

38^4. bred.

39^4. fifty.

41^4. five.

42^4. but yesterday.

43^1. on one Gordion.

45^1. then swarmed.

48^2. this stout.

49^2. See that thy arrow.

49^4. if thou: thee knight.

53^2. stand in no awe.

53^3. S. Andrew’s.

54^2. them all full sore.

55^4. moe.

56^3. I would forsweare.

57^4. the king.

59^2. in this ship with me.

59^3. to shore.

59^4. never had.

60^3. paine.

63^2. there shalt thou.

63^4. his title he hath deserved.

64^2. to this.

64^4. king his land.

Old Ballads, 1723, and Roxburghe, III, 726, have Iris for the Neptune of #B#, in 1^3; Charles Lord Howard in 6^1; Ninety pounds in 64^1.

#h.#

This being a Scottish copy, and the variations also numerous, it seems advisable to give the whole text rather than only the divergent readings. The transcript may be inferred, from passages phonetically misrendered, to have been made from recitation or reading, more probably from recitation, since many of the differences from the printed copies are of the sort which are made by reciters; that is, immaterial expressions are imperfectly remembered; and again, 16^2 is adopted from popular ballad phraseology, and, as already observed, the stanza following 50 is borrowed from ‘Adam Bell.’ Cases of writing sound for sense are 4^3, makes us squails for makes us quail; 7^3, I quitted all for No whit at all; 48^2, The spirit for This pĭrate; 61^3, A nobler day for A noble a day. Verses of 25, 26 have been interchanged. 8, 9^{3,4}, 10^{1,2}, 21, 28, 29, 30, 32, 36, 44, 49, 52^{2,3,4}, 53^1 are wanting. 33, 34 are in the right order. It is a little surprising that a Scottish copy should have Sir Andrew Cross for St Andrew’s cross, 53^3. #a-d# have Sir Andrews Cross.

1 When Febus, with her fragrant flours, bedect the earth so trim and gay, And Neptan, with his denty shours, came to present the month o May,

2 King Hendry would a hunting ride, and over the river Thames past he, Unto a mountain-top also he walkd, some pleasures to espy.

3 There fortie merchants he espy’d, with fiftie sail, come towards him; No sooner there they were arrived but on their knees they did complain.

4 ‘My lodge,’ said they, ‘we cannot sail to France nor Spain, for to be sure; Sir Andrew Barton makes us squails, and berubs (?) us of our merchant-wair.’

5 The king was grievd and turnd him, said to his lords of high degree, Is there not a lord in my realm can fetch yon traitor unto me?

6 Then out bespoke Lord Charles Howard, and says, My ludge, with heart and hand, If that you’l give me leave, said he, I will perform what you command.

7 But out bespoke King Hendrie: ‘I fear, my lord, you are too young;’ ‘I quitted all, my lodge,’ said he, ‘for I think to prove one valient strong.’

9^{1,2} ‘A hundred men out of my realm shall for this service chosen be, 10^{3,4} And they, at thy command and will, in all affairs, shall wait on thee.’

11 The king calld on a gunner then, whose age was ‘bove three score and ten; He was the best in that realm, and Petter Simon height his name.

[#A# 12] ‘Now Peter,’ said he, ‘wee’r bound to sea, to fetch a traitor with good speed, And over a hundred gunners good I’ve chosen thee to be the head.’

[#A# 13] ‘My lodge,’ says he, ‘if he have chosen me oer a hundred men to be the head, Upon mine mast I hangd shall be, if I mess twelve score on a shilling breadth.’

12 My lord calld on a bow-man then, whose hands and acts had gained fame; He was the best in that realm, and William Horsley height his name.

13 ‘Now Horsley,’ says he, ‘wee’r bound to sea, to fetch a traitor wi good speed, And over a hundred archers good I’ve chosen thee to be the head.’

14 ‘My lord,’ sais he, ‘if ye hae chosen me oer a hundred men to be the head, Upon my mast I hangd shall be, if I mess twelve score a shilling breadth.’

15 Lord Howard he’s gone to the wars, wi muckle mirth and merrie cheer; He was not curbd with winters cold, tho it was the stormy time a year.

16 He had not been upon the seas, no not a day but only three, Till he espy’d Sir Hendry Hunt, a merchant of Newcastle he.

17 A peice of ordinance was shot, which straitly charged him to stand; Demanding of him from whence he came, and where he was intend to land.

18 The merchant he made answer then, with a heavy heart and carefull mind, ‘If it please Your Grace, my ship belongs unto Newcastle upon Tine.’

19 ‘Canst thou but show me,’ said the lord, ’as those did sail by day or night, A Scotish rubber on the seas, whose name’s Sir Andrew Burton, knight?’

20 The merchant sighd, and said, Alas! full over well I do him know; Good keep you frae his tiranie! for I was his prisoner yesterday.

22 And muckle debt, God knows, I owe, if every man would crave his oun; But I am bound for London nou, of our gracious king to beg a bon.

23 ‘Wilt you go with me,’ said the lord, ‘and once that villain let me see, For every pennie he’s from thee taen I double the same wi shillings three.’

24 But the merchant sighd, and said, Alas! I fear, my lord, your aims you miss; Good keep you frae his tiranie! for little you ken what a man he is.

25^1 For he’s brass within and steel without, 26^2 and his great ship’s mighty hugie high, So that neither English nor Portugees can pass Sir Andrew Burton by.

26^1 And he has beams for his top-castle 25^2 which is both mighty huge and strong; He has eighteen peice of ordinance he carries on each side along.

27 ‘Bad news thou tells,’ then said the lord, ‘to welcome strangers to the sea; But as I have said, I’ll bring him abord, or into Scotland he’s carry me.’

31 So the merchant set my lord a glass, that well appeared in his eye, And the morning, as his promise was, he did Sir Andrew Burton see.

33 ‘Fetch me my lyon out of hand, set up our rose on streamers high; Set up likewise a willie wand, that merchant like we may pass by.’

34 Thus bravely did Lord Howard pass, upon an anchor rose so high; No topsail at last he did upcast, but like a foe did him defie.

35 Sir Andrew Barton, seeing him thus scornfull-like for to pass by, As tho he cared not a pin for him and all his company,

37 Sir Andrew Barton gave a shott which did Lord Howard muckle dear; For it came so hotly in at his deck killd fifteen of his men a ware.

38 My lord calld on o’ Petter Seymore, says, See thy words does stand in steed; For upon main-mast thou hangd shall be, if thou miss twelve score a shilling breed.

39 Then Petter Symore gave a shot which did Sir Andrew muckle scarr; It came so hotly in his deck killd fifty of his men a ware.

40 Then ‘Out, alas!’ Sir Andrew cryes, ‘and aye alas, and woe’s me! This is some lord, I greatly fear, that is set out to conquer me.’

41 Then Hendry Hunt, with rigor hot, came bravely on the other side; He shot so hotly in at his deck killd fiftie of his men beside.

42 Then ‘Out, alas!’ Sir Andrew cryes, ‘what can a man now do or say? This merchant thief it percies me, he was my prisoner yesterday.’

43 Sir Andrew calld on Gordon then, and bad him to top-castle go And strive to let his beems doun fall, for he greatly feard an overthrow.

45 Then up mass’-tree then climed he, that stout and mighty Gordon; But Horsley soon prevented him, and shot him in at collar-bone.

46 Sir Andrew calld his nephew then; says, Sisters son I hi nè mae; A hundred pounds I’ll to thee give if thou’l up to top-castle gae.

47 Then up mast-tree then climed he, from of the deck for to depart; But Horsley soon prevented him, and deadly peirced him to the heart.

48 His men being slain, then up amain the spirit proud did climb wi speed; Armour of proof he did put on, and of arrows dint he had nè dread.

50 Then up mast-tree then climbed he, the spirit proud did climb amain; But Horsley hat him upon the breast, till his arrow did return again.

‘Foul fà the hands,’ says Horsley then, ‘this day that did that coat put on! For had it been as thin as mine, thy last days had been at an end.’

51 But Horsley spy’d a private part, with a canie hand and secret art, And his arrows swiftly flew amain, and pierced Sir Andrew to the heart.

52^1 ‘Fight on, fight on, my mirrie men all, 53^2 and of English rogues stand ye nè aw; But stand fast by Sir Andrew cross till that ye hear my whistle blà.’

54 But they never heard his whistle blà, which made them mightyly to dread; Say Horsley, My lord, we’ll go abord, for now I know Sir Andrew’s dead.

55 Then boarded they this great ship then, with muckle might and a’ their main, And in her was eighteen score o Scots alive, besides there mony maē were slain.

56 My lord went where Sir Andrew lay, and hastely cut of his head: ‘I’d forsake England this mony a day, if thou were alive as thou art dead.’

57 So Lord Howard he’s come from the wars, with muckle mirth and triumphing, And the pirot’s head he brought along, for to present unto their king.

58 But out bespoke King Hendry, before he knew well what was done: ‘Bring here to me that villain strong, that I mysell may give the doom.’

59 ‘Ye may be thankfà,’ said the lord, ‘at what is done, my ludge,’ said he, ‘That we’r returned alive again; for ye’d never such an enemy.

60 ‘There’s Hendry Hunt, and Petter Symore, and William Horsley, and Petter’s son; Therefore reward them for their pain, for they did service at their turn.’

61 The king he said to Hendry Hunt, ‘For every pennie he’s from the tane, A nobler day I’l to thee give, and Sir Andrew’s whistle and his chain.

62 ‘A croun a day to Petter Symore, and half a croun to Petter’s son; And that was for the shots they gave, which bravely brought Sir Andrew doun.

63 ‘Horsley, I’l make of thee a knight, and in Yorkshire thou shall dwell; Lord Howard shall Earl Bewry height, for the tittle he deserves full well.

64 ‘Seven rosenobles to our English men, which in the feight did stoutly stand, And twelve pence a day unto the Scots, till they come to my broth_e_r king’s land.’

* * * * *

38^1. on O’. o’ may mean old.

62 follows 63.

168

FLODDEN FIELD

From Deloney’s Pleasant History of John Winchcomb, in his younger yeares called Jacke of Newberie, etc., London, 1633; reprinted by J. O. Halliwell, London, 1859, p. 48.

Printed in Ritson’s Ancient Songs, 1790, p. 115; Evans’s Old Ballads, 1810, III, 55.

A booke called Jack of Newbery was entered to Thomas Millington, March 7, 1597: Arber, Stationers’ Registers, III, 81. The edition of 1633, the earliest which Mr Halliwell-Phillipps had met with, was the ninth, published by Cuthbert Wright. The author has introduced several pieces of verse into his tale, two of them popular ballads, ‘The Fair Flower of Northumberland’ and this of Flodden, of which Deloney says, “in disgrace of the Scots, and in remembrance of the famous atchieved historie, the commons of England made this song, which to this day is not forgotten of many:” p. 47.

King James has made a vow to be in London on St James’s day. Queen Margaret begs him to keep faith with her brother Henry, and reminds him that England is hard to win; for which James says she shall die. Lord Thomas Howard, the queen’s chamberlain, comes to the defence of his mistress, but the king in his rage declares that he shall be hanged and she burned as soon as he comes back. But James never came back; he was slain at Bramstone Green with twelve thousand of his men.

1, 2. St James’s day is selected, as being the king’s. King James’s letter to King Henry is dated the 26th of July, the day following St James’s day, and the Scottish herald delivered it in France, and announced war to the king of England, in consequence of the unsatisfactory answer, on the 12th of August, or shortly before.

3–5. Queen Margaret’s remonstrance is historical. James, says Lindsay, would “give no credence to no counsel, sign nor token that made against his purpose, but refused all godly counsel which was for the weal of his crown and country; neither would he use any counsel of his wise and prudent wife, Margaret, queen of Scotland, for no prayer nor supplication that she could make him.... She assured him, if he past in England at that time, that he would get battle. Yet this wise and loving counsel could not be taken in good part by him, because she was the king of England’s sister.” Cronicles, 1814, p. 267 f.

6. The Earl of Surrey, uncle by marriage to Margaret Tudor, had the charge of escorting her to Scotland in 1503, and this is ground enough for the ballad’s making him her chamberlain ten years later.

8. “This battle was called the Field of Flodden by the Scotsmen and Brankston [Bramstone] by the Englishmen, because it was stricken on the hills of Flodden beside a town called Brankston; and was stricken the ninth day of September, 1513.” Lesley, History, 1830, p. 96.

10. Hall says that the English slew “twelve thousand, at the least, of the best gentlemen and flower of Scotland.” The gazette of the battle (Pinkerton’s History, II, 457), Polydore Vergil, and modern Scottish historians, say ten thousand. Among these were twelve earls, thirteen lords, and many other persons of high rank.

12. ‘Iack with a feather’ is said in contempt of the Scottish king’s levity or foolhardiness. “Then was the body bowelled, embawmed and cered:” Hall, p. 564, ed. 1809. “His body was bowelled, rebowelled, and enclosed in lead,” “lapped in lead:” Stowe, Chronicle, p. 494 b, ed. 1631; Survey, Book III, p. 81 a, ed. 1710. Fair Rosamond’s bones, when they were exhumed at Godstow, says Leland, were closed in lead and within that closed in leather: Dugdale’s Monasticon, ed. 1823, IV, 365, No VIII.

In the letter sent to Henry VIII in France James included the slaughter of Andrew Barton among the unredressed grievances of which he had to complain. A few days before the battle of Flodden, Lord Thomas Howard, then admiral, used the occasion of his father’s dispatching a herald to the King of Scots to say that “inasmuch as the said king had divers and many times caused the said lord to be called at days of true to make redress for Andrew Barton, a pirate of the sea long before that vanquished by the same Lord Admiral, he was now come, in his own proper person, to be in the vanguard of the field, to justify the death of the said Andrew against him and all his people, and would see what could be laid to his charge the said day:” Hall’s Chronicle, ed. 1809, p. 558.

There is a slight resemblance in one or two particulars, such as might be expected from similarity of circumstances, between this ballad and ‘Durham Field.’ In the latter the King of Scots swears that he will hold his parliament in leeve London, st. 6. A squire warns him that there are bold yeomen in England; the king is angry, draws his sword, and kills the squire, 7–9. In ‘Scotish Ffeilde,’ Percy Folio, Hales and Furnivall, I, 217,[217] the French king says there is nothing left in England save millers and mass-priests, v. 109; and in the poem on Flodden, reprinted by Weber, and recently by Federer,[218] Lord Home makes this same assertion, Weber, p. 10, 187–92; Federer, p. 8, sts 46, 47. Cf. ‘Durham Field,’ p. 282.

The forged manuscript formerly in the possession of J. Payne Collier, containing thirty ballads alleged to be of the early part of the seventeenth century, has for the second piece in the volume a transcript of this ballad, with variations.

The battle of Flodden called out a great deal of verse. The most notable pieces are two already referred to, and a third which will be given here in an appendix; the less important will be found in Weber’s volume.

1 King Jamie hath made a vow, Keepe it well if he may! That he will be at lovely London Upon Saint James his day.

2 ‘Upon Saint James his day at noone, At faire London will I be, And all the lords in merrie Scotland, They shall dine there with me.’

3 Then bespake good Queene Margaret, The teares fell from her eye: ‘Leave off these warres, most noble king, Keepe your fidelitie.

4 ‘The water runnes swift and wondrous deepe, From bottome unto the brimme; My brother Henry hath men good enough; England is hard to winne.’

5 ‘Away,’ quoth he, ‘with this silly foole! In prison fast let her lie: For she is come of the English bloud, And for these words she shall dye.’

6 With that bespake Lord Thomas Howard, The queenes chamberlaine that day: ‘If that you put Queene Margaret to death, Scotland shall rue it alway.’

7 Then in a rage King Jamie did say, ‘Away with this foolish mome! He shall be hanged, and the other be burned, So soone as I come home.’

8 At Flodden Field the Scots came in, Which made our English men faine; At Bramstone Greene this battaile was seene, There was King Jamie slaine.

9 Then presently the Scots did flie, Their cannons they left behind; Their ensignes gay were won all away, Our souldiers did beate them blinde.

10 To tell you plaine, twelve thousand were slaine That to the fight did stand, And many prisoners tooke that day, The best in all Scotland.

11 That day made many [a] fatherlesse child, And many a widow poore, And many a Scottish gay lady Sate weeping in her bower.

12 Jack with a feather was lapt all in leather, His boastings were all in vaine; He had such a chance, with a new morrice-dance, He never went home againe.

* * * * *

3^1. he spake.

The copy followed by Ritson puts st. 11 after 5. The principal variations of the Collier copy may be given, though they are without authority or merit.

After 2: March out, march out, my merry men, Of hie or low degree; I’le weare the crowne in London towne, And that you soone shall see.

4^4. To venture life and limme.

Then doe not goe from faire Scotland, But stay thy realm within; Your power, I weene, is all to weake, And England hard to winne.

5^1. this sillie mome.

7^2. this other mome.

After 8: His bodie never could be found, When he was over throwne, And he that wore faire Scotlands crowne That day could not be knowne.

For 12, to adapt the piece to the seventeenth century: Now heaven we laude that never more Such tiding shall come to hand; Our king, by othe, is king of both England and faire Scotland.

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