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GOD prosper long our noble king,
Our lives and safetyes all;
A woefull hunting once there did
In Chevy-Chace befall;

To drive the deere with hound and horne,
Erle Percy took his way;

The child may rue* that is unborne,
The hunting of that day.

The stout Erle of Northumberland
A vow to God did make,

His pleasure in the Scottish woods
Three summers days to take;

The cheefest harts in Chevy-Chace

To kill and beare away. These tydings to Erle Douglas came, In Scottland where he lay :

Who sent Erle Percy present word,

He wold prevent his sport. The English Erle, 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 neede
To ayme their shafts arright.

The gallant greyhounds swiftly ran,
To chase the fallow deere:
On munday they began to hunt,

Ere daylight did appeare;

And long before high noone they had
An hundred fat buckes slaine;
Then having dined, the drovyers went
To rouze the deare againe.

The bow-men mustered on the hills,
Well able to endure;

Theire backsides all, with speciall care,
That day were guarded sure.

*The way of considering the misfortune which this battle would bring upon posterity ... is wonderfully beautiful and conformable to the way of thinking among the ancient poets.-ADDISON.

The hounds ran swiftly through the

woods,

The nimble deere to take,*

That with their cryes the hills and dales An eccho shrill did make.

Lord Percy to the quarry went,

To view the slaughter'd deere ;
Quoth he, Erle Douglas promised
This day to meet me heere:

But if I thought he wold not come,
Noe longer wold I stay.

With that, a brave younge gentleman
Thus to the Erle did say:

Loe, yonder doth Erle Douglas come,
His men in armour bright;
Full twenty hundred Scottish speres
All marching in our sight;

All men of pleasant Tivydale,

Fast by the river Tweede :
O cease your sports, Erle Percy said,
And take your bowes with speede:
And now with me, my countrymen,
Your courage forth advance;
For there was never champion yett,
In Scotland or in France,

That ever did on horsebacke come,
But if my hap it were,

I durst encounter man for man,
With him to break a spere.

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Until the blood, like drops of rain,
They trickling downe did feele.

Yeeld thee, Lord Percy, Douglas sayd;
In faith I will thee bringe,
Where thou shalt high advanced bee
By James our Scottish king:

Thy ransome I will freely give,

And this report of thee, Thou art the most couragious knight, That ever I did see.

Noe, Douglas, quoth Erle Percy then,
Thy proffer I doe scorne;

I will not yeelde to any Scott,
That ever yett was borne.

With that, there came an arrow keene
Out of an English bow,
Which struck Erle Douglas to the heart,
A deepe and deadlye blow:

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 liffe, Erle Percy tooke
The dead man by the hand ;*
And said, Erle Douglas, for thy life
Wold I had lost my land.

O Christ! my verry hart doth bleed
With sorrow for thy sake;
For sure, a more redoubted knight
Mischance cold never take.

A knight amongst the Scots there was,
Which saw Erle Douglas dye,
Who streight in wrath did vow revenge
Upon the Lord Percye:

Sir Hugh Mountgomery was he call'd,
Who, with a spere most bright,
Well-mounted on a gallant steed,
Ran fiercely through the fight;

* Addison praises this line as wonderfully beautiful and pathetic.

And past the English archers all,
Without all dread or feare;
And through Earl Percyes body then
He thrust his hatefull spere ;

With such a vehement force and might
He did his body gore,

The staff ran through the other side
A large cloth-yard, and more.
So thus did both these nobles dye,
Whose courage none could staine:
An English archer then perceiv'd
The noble erle was slaine;

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 hee:
Against Sir Hugh Mountgomerye,
So right the shaft he sett,
The grey goose-winge that was thereon,
In his harts bloode was wett.

This fight did last from breake of day,
Till setting of the sun;

For when they rung the evening-bell,*
The battel scarce was done.

With stout Erle Percy, there was slaine
Sir John of Egerton,

Sir Robert Ratcliff, and Sir John,
Sir James that bold barròn:

And with Sir George and stout Sir James,
Both knights of good account,
Good Sir Ralph Raby there was slaine,
Whose prowesse did surmount.

For Witherington needs must I wayle,
As one in doleful dumpes;†

*Sc. the Curfew bell, usually rung at 8 o'clock, to which the modernizer apparently alludes, instead of the "Evensong bell," a bell for vespers of the original author, before the Reformation.

ti.e. "I, as one in deep concern, must lament." The construction here has generally been misunderstood. The old MS. reads "wofull dumpes."

For when his leggs were smitten off,

He fought upon his stumpes.

And with Erle Douglas, there was slaine Sir Hugh Mountgomerye,

Sir Charles Murray, that from the feeld One foote wold never flee.

Sir Charles Murray, of Ratcliff, too,
His sisters sonne was hee;
Sir David Lamb, so well esteem'd,
Yet saved cold not bee.

And the Lord Maxwell in like case
Did with Erle Douglas dye:
Of twenty hundred Scottish speres,
Scarce fifty-five did flye.

Of fifteen hundred Englishmen,
Went home but fifty-three;
The rest were slaine in Chevy-Chase,
Under the greene woode tree.

Next day did many widowes come,

Their husbands to bewayle; They washt their wounds in brinish teares, But all wold not prevayle.

Theyr bodyes, bathed in purple gore,

They bare with them away: They kist them dead a thousand times, Ere they were cladd in clay.*

*"What can be more natural or more moving than the circumstances in which the author describes the behaviour of those women who had lost their husbands on the fatal day?"— ADDISON.

The newes was brought to Eddenborrow,

Where Scottlands king did raigne, That brave Erle Douglas suddenlye

Was with an arrow slaine:

O heavy newes, King James did say,
Scottland may witnesse bee,

I have not any captaine more
Of such account as hee.

Like tydings to King Henry came,
Within as short a space,

That Percy of Northumberland
Was slaine in Chevy-Chase:

Now God be with him, said our king,
Sith it will noe better bee;

I trust I have, within my realme,
Five hundred as good as hee:

Yett shall not Scotts nor Scotland say,
But I will vengeance take:
I'll be revenged on them all,

For brave Erle Percyes sake.

This vow full well the king perform'd
After, at Humbledowne;
In one day, fifty knights were slayne,

With lords of great renowne:

And of the rest, of small account,

Did many thousands dye :
Thus endeth the hunting of Chevy-Chase,
Made by the Erle Percy.

God save our king, and bless this land
With plentye, joy, and peace;
And grant henceforth, that foule debate
'Twixt noblemen may cease.

II. DEATH'S FINAL CONQUEST.

THESE fine moral stanzas were originally intended for a solemn funeral song, in a play of James Shirley's, entitled The Contention of Ajax and Ulysses, no date, 8vo. Shirley flourished as a dramatic writer early in the reign of Charles I.; but he outlived the Restoration. His death happened October 29, 1666, æt. 72.

This little poem was written long after many of those that follow, but is inserted here as a kind of dirge to the foregoing piece. It is said to have been a favourite song with King Charles II.

THE glories of our birth and state

Are shadows, not substantial things; There is no armour against fate: Death lays his icy hands on kings:

Scepter and crown

Must tumble down,

And in the dust be equal made
With the poor crooked scythe and spade.

Some men with swords may reap the field,
And plant fresh laurels where they kill;
But their strong nerves at last must yield;
They tame but one another still.

Early or late

They stoop to fate,

And must give up their murmuring breath,
When they pale captives creep to death.
The garlands wither on your brow,
Then boast no more your mighty deeds;
Upon death's purple altar now

See where the victor victim bleeds:
All heads must come
To the cold tomb,

Only the actions of the just

Smell sweet, and blossom in the dust.

III. THE RISING IN THE NORTH.

THE subject of this ballad is the great northern insurrection in the 12th year of Elizabeth, 1569; which proved so fatal to Thomas Percy, the Seventh Earl of Northumberland.

A secret negotiation had been entered into to bring about the marriage of Mary Queen of Scots and the Duke of Norfolk; Mary was at that time a prisoner in England. The report reaching the ears of Queen Elizabeth, made her furiously angry; the Duke of Norfolk was committed to the Tower, and the northern earls were commanded to appear at court. The Earl of Northumberland was making up his mind to obey, when on the night of 14th Nov. there was an alarm that a party of his enemies had come to seize him. He rose from his bed in haste and withdrew to the Earl of Westmoreland, at Brancepeth, where the country round fell into excitement and begged the Earls to take up arms. They accordingly set up their standards, but met with but little success; and the Earl of Sussex with Lord Hunsdon, followed by Ambrose Dudley, Earl of Warwick, and a large army, caused the insurgents to retreat towards the borders; there dismissing their followers, the leaders escaped to Scotland. The Earl of Sussex and Sir George Bowes caused vast numbers of the army to be put to death. Sixty-three constables were hanged, and Sir George Bowes boasted that for sixty miles in length and forty in breadth between Newcastle and Wetherby there was hardly a village or town where some of the inhabitants had not been executed.

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