He would prevent his sport.
The English earl, not fearing that,
Did to the woods resort
With fifteen hundred bow-men bold;
All chosen men of might,
Who knew full well in time of need
To aim their shafts aright.
The gallant greyhounds swiftly ran,
To chase the fallow deer:
On Monday they began to hunt,
Ere day-light did appear;
And long before high noon they had
An hundred fat bucks slain;
Then having din'd, the drovers went
To rouse the deer again.
The bow-men mustered on the hills,
Well able to endure;
Their backsides all, with special care,
That day were guarded sure.
The hounds ran swiftly through the woods,
The nimble deer to take,
That with their cries the hills and dales
An echo shrill did make.
Lord Percy to the quarry went,
To view the slaughter'd deer;
Quoth he, Earl Douglas promised
This day to meet me here:
But if I thought he would not come,
No longer would I stay.
With that, a brave young gentleman
Thus to the earl did say:
Lo, yonder doth Earl Douglas come,
His men in armour bright;
Full twenty hundred Scottish spears
All marching in our sight;
All men of pleasant Teviotdale,
Fast by the river Tweed:
O cease your sport, Earl Percy said,
And take your bows with speed:
And now with me, my countrymen,
Your courage forth advance;
For never was there champion yet
In Scotland or in France,
That ever did on horseback come,
But if my hap it were,
I durst encounter man for man,
With him to break a spear.
Earl Douglas on his milk-white steed,
Most like a baron bold,
Rode foremost of his company,
Whose armour shone like gold.
Show me, said he, whose men you be,
That hunt so boldly here,
That, without my consent, do chase
And kill my fallow-deer?
The man that first did answer make,
Was noble Percy he;
Who said, We list not to declare,
Nor show whose men we be:
Yet will we spend our dearest blood,
Thy chiefest harts to slay.
Then Douglas swore a solemn oath,
And thus in rage did say,
Ere thus will I out-braved be,
One of us two shall die:
I know thee well, an earl thou art,
Lord Percy; so am I.
But trust me, Percy, pity 'twere,
And great offence to kill
Any of these our guiltless men,
For they have done no ill.
Let thou and I the battle try,
And set our men aside.
Accurst be he, Earl Percy said,
By whom this is denied.
Then stept a gallant squire forth,
Witherington was his name,
Who said, I would not have it told
To Henry our king for shame,
That e'er my captain fought on foot,
And I stood looking on.
You be two earls, said Witherington,
And I a squire alone:
I'll do the best that do I may,
While I have power to stand:
While I have power to wield my sword,
I'll fight with heart and hand.
Our English archers bent their bows,
Their hearts were good and true;
At the first flight of arrows sent,
Full four-score Scots they slew.
Yet bides Earl Douglas on the bent[82]
As Chieftain stout and good,
As valiant Captain, all unmov'd
The shock he firmly stood.
His host he parted had in three,
As leader ware and try'd,
And soon his spearmen on their foes
Bore down on every side.
Throughout the English archery
They dealt full many a wound:
But still our valiant Englishmen
All firmly kept their ground:
And throwing straight their bows away,
They grasp'd their swords so bright:
And now sharp blows, a heavy shower,
On shields and helmets light.
They clos'd full fast on every side,
No slackness there was found;
And many a gallant gentleman
Lay gasping on the ground.
O Christ! it was a grief to see,
And likewise for to hear,
The cries of men lying in their gore,
And scattered here and there.
At last these two stout earls did meet,
Like captains of great might:
Like lions wood,[83] they laid on loud,
And made a cruel fight:
They fought until they both did sweat,
With swords of tempered steel;
Until the blood, like drops of rain,
They trickling down did feel.
Yield thee, Lord Percy, Douglas said;
In faith I will thee bring,
Where thou shalt high advanced be
By James our Scottish king:
Thy ransom I will freely give,
And thus report of thee,
Thou art the most courageous knight,
That ever I did see.
No, Douglas, quoth Earl Percy then,
Thy proffer I do scorn;
I will not yield to any Scot,
That ever yet was born.
With that, there came an arrow keen
Out of an English bow,
Which struck Earl Douglas to the heart,
A deep and deadly blow:
[Illustration: CHEVY CHASE. EARL PERCY, AND EARL DOUGLAS.]
Who never spake more words than these,
Fight on, my merry men all;
For why, my life is at an end;
Lord Percy sees my fall.
Then leaving life, Earl Percy took
The dead man by the hand;
And said, Earl Douglas, for thy life
Would I had lost my land.
O Christ! my very heart doth bleed
With sorrow for thy sake;
For sure, a more renowned knight
Mischance could never take.
A knight amongst the Scots there was,
Which saw Earl Douglas die,
Who straight in wrath did vow revenge
Upon the Lord Percy:
Sir Hugh Montgomery was he call'd
Who, with a spear most bright,
Well-mounted on a gallant steed,
Ran fiercely through the fight;
And past the English archers all,
Without all dread or fear;
And through Earl Percy's body then
He thrust his hateful spear;
With such a vehement force and might
He did his body gore,
The staff went through the other side
A large cloth-yard, and more.
So thus did both these nobles die,
Whose courage none could stain;
An English archer then perceiv'd
The noble earl was slain;
He had a bow bent in his hand,
Made of a trusty tree;
An arrow of a cloth-yard long
Up to the head drew he:
Against Sir Hugh Montgomery,
So right the shaft he set,
The grey goose-wing that was thereon
In his heart's blood was wet.
This fight did last from break of day
Till setting of the sun;
For when they rung the evening bell,[84]
The battle scarce was done.
With brave Earl Percy, there was slain
Sir John of Egerton,
Sir Robert Ratcliff, and Sir John,
Sir James that bold Baron:
And with Sir George and stout Sir James,
Both knights of good account,
Good Sir Ralph Raby there was slain,
Whose prowess did surmount.
For Witherington needs must I wail,
As one in doleful dumps;
For when his legs were smitten off,
He fought upon his stumps.
And with Earl Douglas, there was slain
Sir Hugh Montgomery,
Sir Charles Murray, that from the field
One foot would never flee.
Sir Charles Murray, of Ratcliff, too,
His sister's son was he;
Sir David Lamb, so well esteem'd,
Yet saved could not be.
And the Lord Maxwell in like case
Did with Earl Douglas die:
Of twenty hundred Scottish spears,
Scarce fifty-five did fly.
Of fifteen hundred Englishmen,
Went home but fifty-three;
The rest were slain in Chevy Chase,
Under the greenwood tree.
Next day did many widows come,
Their husbands to bewail;
They washed their wounds in brinish tears,
But all would not prevail.
Their bodies, bathed in purple gore,
They bare with them away:
They kiss'd them dead a thousand times,
Ere they were clad in clay.
This news was brought to Edinburgh,
Where Scotland's king did reign,
That brave Earl Douglas suddenly
Was with an arrow slain:
O heavy news, King James did say,
Scotland can witness be,
I have not any captain more
Of such account as he.
Like tidings to King Henry came,
Within as short a space,
That Percy of Northumberland
Was slain in Chevy Chase:
Now God be with him, said our king,
Since it will no better be;
I trust I have, within my realm,
Five hundred as good as he:
Yet shall not Scots nor Scotland say,
But I will vengeance take:
I'll be revenged on them all,
For brave Earl Percy's sake.
This vow full well the king perform'd
After, at Humbledown;
In one day, fifty knights were slain,
With lords of great renown:
And of the rest, of small account,
Did many thousands die:
Thus endeth the hunting of Chevy Chase,
Made by the Earl Percy.
God save our king, and bless this land
In plenty, joy, and peace;
And grant henceforth, that foul debate
'Twixt noblemen may cease.
FOOTNOTES:
[82] Field.
[83] Wild.
[84] The curfew.
KING EDWARD THE FOURTH AND THE TANNER OF TAMWORTH.
In summer time, when leaves grow green,
And blossoms bedeck the tree,
King Edward would a hunting ride,
Some pastime for to see.
With hawk and hound he made him bowne,[85]
With horn, and eke with bow;
To Drayton Basset he took his way,
With all his lords in a row.
And he had ridden o'er dale and down
By eight of clock in the day,
When he was 'ware of a bold tanner,
Come riding along the way.
A fair russet coat the tanner had on
Fast buttoned under his chin,
And under him a good cow-hide,
And a mare of four shilling.[86]
Now stand you still, my good lords all,
Under the greenwood spray;
And I will wend to yonder fellow,
To weet[87] what he will say.
God speed, God speed thee, said our king.
Thou art welcome, sir, said he.
The readiest way to Drayton Basset
I pray thee to show to me.
To Drayton Basset wouldst thou go,
Fro' the place where thou dost stand?
The next pair of gallows thou comest unto,
Turn in upon thy right hand.
That is an unready way, said our king,
Thou dost but jest I see;
Now show me out the nearest way,
And I pray thee wend with me.
Away with a vengeance! quoth the tanner:
I hold thee out of thy wit:
All day have I ridden on Brock my mare,
And I am fasting yet.
Go with me down to Drayton Basset,
No dainties we will spare;
All day shalt thou eat and drink of the best,
And I will pay thy fare.
Gramercy for nothing, the tanner replied,
Thou payest no fare of mine:
I trow I've more nobles in my purse,
Than thou hast pence in thine.
God give thee joy of them, said the king,
And send them well to priefe.[88]
The tanner would fain have been away,
For he weened he had been a thief.
Who art thou, he said, thou fine fellow,
Of thee I am in great fear,
For the clothes thou wearest upon thy back,
Might beseem a lord to wear.
I never stole them, quoth our king,
I tell you, sir, by the rood,
Then thou playest, as many an unthrift doth
And standest in midst of thy good.[89]
What tidings hear you, said the king,
As you ride far and near?
I hear no tidings, sir, by the mass,
But that cow-hides are dear.
Cow-hides! cow-hides! what things are those?
I marvel what they be!
What art thou a fool? the tanner replied;
I carry one under me.
What craftsman art thou? said the king,
I pray thee tell me true.
I am a barker,[90] sir, by my trade;
Now tell me what art thou?
I am a poor courtier, sir, quoth he,
That am forth of service worn;
And fain I would thy prentice be,
Thy cunning for to learn.
Marry heaven forfend, the tanner replied,
That thou my prentice were:
Thou wouldst spend more good than I should win
By forty shilling a year.
Yet one thing would I, said our king,
If thou wilt not seem strange:
Though my horse be better than thy mare,
Yet with thee I fain would change.
Why if with me thou fain wilt change,
As change full well may we,
By the faith of my body, thou proud fellow,
I will have some boot of thee.
That were against reason, said the king,
I swear, so mote I thee:[91]
My horse is better than thy mare,
And that thou well mayst see.
Yea, sir, but Brock is gentle and mild,
And softly she will fare:
Thy horse is unruly and wild, I wiss;
Aye skipping here and there.
What boot wilt thou have? our king replied,
Now tell me in this stound.
No pence, nor half-pence, by my faith,
But a noble in gold so round.
Here's twenty groats of white money,
Sith thou will have it of me.
I would have sworn now, quoth the tanner,
Thou hadst not had one penny.
But since we two have made a change,
A change we must abide,
Although thou hast gotten Brock my mare,
Thou gettest not my cow-hide.
I will not have it, said the king,
I swear, so mote I thee;
Thy foul cow-hide I would not bear,
If thou wouldst give it to me.
The tanner he took his good cow-hide,
That of the cow was hilt;[92]
And threw it upon the king's saddle,
That was so fairly gilt.
Now help me up, thou fine fellow,
'Tis time that I were gone;
When I come home to Gyllian my wife,
She'll say I am a gentleman.
When the tanner he was in the king's saddle,
And his foot in the stirrup was;
He marvelled greatly in his mind,
Whether it were gold or brass.
But when his steed saw the cow's tail wag,
And eke the black cow-horn;
He stamped, and stared, and away he ran,
As the devil had him borne.
The tanner he pulled, the tanner he sweat,
And held by the pummel fast,
At length the tanner came tumbling down;
His neck he had well-nigh brast.[93]
Take thy horse again with a vengeance, he said,
With me he shall not bide.
My horse would have borne thee well enough,
But he knew not of thy cow-hide.
Yet if again thou fain wouldst change,
As change full well may we,
By the faith of my body, thou jolly tanner,
I will have some boot of thee.
What boot wilt thou have, the tanner replied,
Now tell me in this stound?[94]
No pence, nor half-pence, sir, by my faith,
But I will have twenty pound.
[Illustration: KING EDWARD IV. AND THE TANNER OF TAMWORTH.]
Here's twenty groats out of my purse;
And twenty I have of thine:
And I have one more, which we will spend
Together at the wine.
The king set a bugle horn to his mouth,
And blew both loud and shrill:
And soon came lords, and soon came knights,
Fast riding over the hill.
Now, out alas! the tanner he cried,
That ever I saw this day!
Thou art a strong thief, yon come thy fellows
Will bear my cow-hide away.
They are no thieves, the king replied,
I swear, so mote I thee:
But they are the lords of the north country,
Here come to hunt with me.
And soon before our king they came,
And knelt down on the ground:
Then might the tanner have been away,
He had lever[95] than twenty pound.
A collar, a collar, here: said the king,
A collar he loud 'gan cry:
Then would he lever than twenty pound,
He had not been so nigh.
A collar, a collar, the tanner he said,
I trow it will breed sorrow:
After a collar cometh a halter,
I trow I shall be hang'd to-morrow.
Be not afraid, tanner, said our king;
I tell thee, so mote I thee,
Lo here I make thee the best esquire
That is in the north country.
For Plumpton-park I will give thee,
With tenements fair beside:
'Tis worth three hundred marks by the year,
To maintain thy good cow-hide.
Gramercy, my liege, the tanner replied,
For the favour thou hast me shown:
If ever thou comest to merry Tamworth,
Neat's[96] leather shall clout thy shoen.[97]
FOOTNOTES:
[85] Ready.
[86] A shilling was a large sum in those days.
[87] Know.
[88] Prove.
[89] _i.e._ Hast no other wealth but what thou carriest about thee.
[90] A dealer in bark.
[91] May I thrive.
[92] Flayed.
[93] Broken.
[94] Time.
[95] Rather.
[96] Cow's.
[97] Mend thy shoes.
THE HEIR OF LINNE.
PART THE FIRST.
Lithe[98] and listen, gentlemen,
To sing a song I will begin:
It is of a lord of fair Scotland,
Which was the unthrifty heir of Linne.
His father was a right good lord,
His mother a lady of high degree;
But they, alas! were dead, him fro',
And he lov'd keeping company.
To spend the day with merry cheer,
To drink and revel every night,
To card and dice from eve to morn,
It was, I ween, his heart's delight.
To ride, to run, to rant, to roar,
To alway spend and never spare,
I know, an' it were the king himself,
Of gold and fee he might be bare.
So fares the unthrifty lord of Linne
Till all his gold is gone and spent;
And he maun sell his lands so broad,
His house, and lands, and all his rent.
His father had a keen steward,
And John o' the Scales was called he:
But John is become a gentleman,
And John has got both gold and fee.
Says, Welcome, welcome, lord of Linne,
Let nought disturb thy merry cheer;
If thou wilt sell thy lands so broad,
Good store of gold I'll give thee here.
My gold is gone, my money is spent;
My land now take it unto thee:
Give me the gold, good John o' the Scales,
And thine for aye my land shall be.
Then John he did him to record draw,
And John he cast him a gods-pennie;[99]
But for every pound that John agreed,
The land, I wis, was well worth three.
He told him the gold upon the board,
He was right glad his land to win;
The gold is thine, the land is mine,
And now I'll be the lord of Linne.
Thus he hath sold his land so broad,
Both hill and holt,[100] and moor and fen,
All but a poor and lonesome lodge,
That stood far off in a lonely glen.
For so he to his father hight,[101]
My son, when I am gone, said he,
Then thou wilt spend thy land so broad,
And thou wilt spend thy gold so free:
But swear me now upon the cross,
That lonesome lodge thou'lt never spend;
For when all the world doth frown on thee,
Thou there shalt find a faithful friend.
The heir of Linne is full of gold:
And come with me, my friends, said he,
Let's drink, and rant, and merry make,
And he that spares, ne'er mote he thee.[102]
They ranted, drank, and merry made,
Till all his gold it waxed thin;
And then his friends they slunk away;
They left the unthrifty heir of Linne.
He had never a penny left in his purse,
Never a penny left but three,
And one was brass, another was lead,
And another it was white money.
Now well-a-day, said the heir of Linne,
Now well-a-day, and woe is me,
For when I was the lord of Linne,
I never wanted gold nor fee.
But many a trusty friend have I,
And why should I feel grief or care?
I'll borrow of them all by turns,
So need I not be never bare.
But one, I wis, was not at home;
Another had paid his gold away;
Another called him thriftless loon,
And bade him sharply wend his way.
Now well-a-day, said the heir of Linne,
Now well-a-day, and woe is me;
For when I had my lands so broad,
On me they liv'd right merrily.
To beg my bread from door to door
I wis, it were a burning shame:
To rob and steal it were a sin:
To work my limbs I cannot frame.
Now I'll away to lonesome lodge,
For there my father bade me wend;
When all the world should frown on me,
I there should find a trusty friend.
PART THE SECOND.
Away then hied the heir of Linne
O'er hill and holt, and moor and fen,
Until he came to lonesome lodge,
That stood so low in a lonely glen.
He looked up, he looked down,
In hope some comfort for to win:
But bare and loathly were the walls.
Here's sorry cheer, quo' the heir of Linne.
The little window dim and dark
Was hung with ivy, brier, and yew;
No shimmering sun here ever shone;
No wholesome breeze here ever blew.
No chair nor table he mote spy,
No cheerful hearth, no welcome bed,
Nought save a rope with running noose
That dangling hung up o'er his head.
And over it in broad letters,
These words were written plain to see:
"Ah! graceless wretch, hast spent thine all,
And brought thyself to penury?
"All this my boding mind misgave,
I therefore left this trusty friend:
Let it now shield thy foul disgrace,
And all thy shame and sorrows end."
Sorely shent[103] wi' this rebuke,
Sorely shent was the heir of Linne;
His heart, I wis, was near to burst
With guilt and sorrow, shame and sin.
Never a word spake the heir of Linne,
Never a word he spake but three:
This is a trusty friend indeed,
And is right welcome unto me.
Then round his neck the cord he drew,
And sprang aloft with his body:
When lo! the ceiling burst in twain,
And to the ground came tumbling he.
Astonished lay the heir of Linne,
Nor knew if he were live or dead:
At length he looked, and saw a bill,[104]
And in it a key of gold so red.
He took the bill, and looked it on,
Straight good comfort found he there:
It told him of a hole in the wall,
In which there stood three chests in-fere.[105]
Two were full of the beaten gold,
The third was full of white money;
And over them in broad letters
These words were written so plain to see:
"Once more, my son, I set thee clear;
Amend thy life and follies past;
For but thou amend thee of thy life,
That rope must be thy end at last."
And let it be, said the heir of Linne;
And let it be, but[106] if I amend:
For here I will make my vow,
This reade[107] shall guide me to the end.
Away then went with a merry cheer,
Away then went the heir of Linne;
I wis, he neither ceas'd nor blanne,[108]
Till John o' the Scales' house he did win.
And when he came to John o' the Scales,
Up at the speere[109] then looked he;
There sat three lords upon a row,
Were drinking of the wine so free.
And John himself sat at the board-head,
Because now lord of Linne was he.
I pray thee, he said, good John o' the Scales,
One forty pence, for to lend me.
Away, away, thou thriftless loon;
Away, away, this may not be;
For Christ's curse on my head, he said,
If ever I trust thee one pennie.
Then bespake the heir of Linne,
To John o' the Scales' wife then spake he:
Madame, some alms on me bestow,
I pray for sweet saint Charity.
Away, away, thou thriftless loon,
I swear thou gettest no alms of me;
For if we should hang any losel[110] here,
The first we would begin with thee.
Then bespake a good fellow,
Which sat at John o' the Scales his board;
Said, Turn again, thou heir of Linne;
Some time thou wast a well good lord:
Some time a good fellow thou hast been,
And sparedst not thy gold and fee;
Therefore I'll lend thee forty pence,
And other forty if need be.
And ever, I pray thee, John o' the Scales,
To let him sit in thy company:
For well I wot thou hadst his land,
And a good bargain it was to thee.
Up then spake him John o' the Scales,
All wood[111] he answer'd him again:
Now Christ's curse on my head, he said,
But I did lose by that bargain.
And here I proffer thee, heir of Linne,
Before these lords so fair and free,
Thou shalt have it back again better cheap,
By a hundred marks, than I had it of thee.
I draw you to record, lords, he said.
With that he cast him a gods-pennie:
Now by my fay, said the heir of Linne,
And here, good John, is thy money.
And he pull'd forth three bags of gold,
And laid them down upon the board:
All woe begone was John o' the Scales,
So shent[112] he could say never a word.
[Illustration: THE HEIR OF LINNIE.]
He told him forth the good red gold,
He told it forth with mickle din.
The gold is thine, the land is mine,
And now again I'm the lord of Linne.
Says, Have thou here, thou good fellow,
Forty pence thou didst lend me:
Now I am again the lord of Linne,
And forty pounds I will give thee.
I'll make thee keeper of my forest,
Both of the wild deer and the tame;
For but I reward thy bounteous heart,
I wis, good fellow, I were to blame.
Now well-a-day! saith Joan o' the Scales:
Now well-a-day! and woe is my life!
Yesterday I was lady of Linne,
Now I'm but John o' the Scales his wife.
Now fare thee well, said the heir of Linne;
Farewell now, John o' the Scales, said he:
Christ's curse light on me, if ever again
I bring my lands in jeopardy.
FOOTNOTES:
[98] Attend.
[99] Earnest-money.
[100] Wood.
[101] Promised.
[102] May he thrive.
[103] Disgraced.
[104] Writing.
[105] Together.
[106] Unless.
[107] Counsel.
[108] Lingered.
[109] Hole in the window.
[110] Worthless fellow.
[111] Wild.
[112] Disgraced.
SIR ANDREW BARTON.
PART THE FIRST.
When Flora with her fragrant flowers
Bedecked the earth so trim and gay,
And Neptune with his dainty showers
Came to present the month of May,
King Henry rode to take the air,
Over the river Thames past he;
When eighty merchants of London came,
And down they knelt upon their knee.
O ye are welcome, rich merchants;
Good sailors, welcome unto me.
They swore by the rood, they were sailors good,
But rich merchants they could not be:
To France nor Flanders dare we pass,
Nor Bordeaux voyage dare we fare;[113]
And all for a rover that lies on the seas,
Who robs us of our merchant ware.
King Henry frowned, and turned him round,
And swore by the Lord, that was mickle of might,
I thought he had not been in the world,
Durst have wrought England such unright.
The merchants sighed, and said, alas!
And thus they did their answer frame,
He is a proud Scot, that robs on the seas,
And Sir Andrew Barton is his name.
The king looked over his left shoulder,
And an angry look then looked he:
Have I never a lord in all my realm,
Will fetch yon traitor unto me?
Yea, that dare I, lord Howard says;
Yea, that dare I with heart and hand;
If it please your grace to give me leave,
Myself will be the only man.
Thou art but young, the king replied;
Yon Scot hath numbered many a year.
Trust me, my liege, I'll make him quail,
Or before my prince I will never appear.
Then bowmen and gunners thou shalt have,
And choose them over my realm so free;
Besides good mariners, and ship-boys,
To guide the great ship on the sea.
The first man that lord Howard chose
Was the ablest gunner in all the realm,
Though he was threescore years and ten;
Good Peter Simon was his name.
Peter, says he, I must to the sea,
To bring home a traitor live or dead;
Before all others I have chosen thee,
Of a hundred gunners to be the head.
If you, my lord, have chosen me
Of a hundred gunners to be the head,
Then hang me up on your main-mast tree,
If I miss my mark one shilling bread.[114]
My lord then chose a bowman rare,
Whose active hands had gained fame;
In Yorkshire was this gentleman born,
And William Horseley was his name.