LISTEN, lively lordings all,

Lithe and listen unto mee,

And I will sing of a noble earle,

The noblest earle in the north countrie.

Earle Percy is into his garden gone,

And after him walkes his faire ladle :* I heard a bird sing in mine eare,

That I must either fight, or flee.

Now heaven forefend, my dearest lord, That ever such harm should hap to thee:

But goe to London to the court,

And faire fall truth and honestle.

Now nay, now nay, my ladye gay, Alas! thy counsell suits not mee; Mine enemies prevail so fast,

That at the court I may not bee.

goe to the court yet, good my lord, And take thy gallant men with thee: If any dare to doe you wrong,

Then your warrant they may bee.

Now nay, now nay, thou lady faire,
The court is full of subtiltle;
And if I goe to the court, lady,
Never more I may thee see.

Yet goe to the court, my lord, she sayes,
And I myselfe will ryde wi' thee:

At court then for my dearest lord,
His faithfull borrowe I will bee.

Now nay, now nay, my lady deare;
Far lever had I lose my life,
Than leave among my cruell foes

My love in jeopardy and strife.

But come thou hither, my little foot-page, Come thou hither unto mee,

*This lady was Anne, daughter of Henry Somerset, Earl of Worcester.

To maister Norton* thou must goe In all the haste that ever may bee. Commend me to that gentleman,

And beare this letter here fro mee; And say that earnestly I praye,

He will ryde in my companie.

One while the little foot-page went,
And another while he ran ;
Untill he came to his journeys end,
The little foot-page never blan.

When to that gentleman he came,

Down he kneeled on his knee; And tooke the letter betwixt his hands, And lett the gentleman it see.

And when the letter it was redd

Affore that goodlye companye, I wis, if you the truthe wold know, There was many a weeping eye.

He sayd, Come thither, Christopher Norton,

A gallant youth thou seemst to bee; What doest thou counsell me, my sonne, Now that good erle's in jeopardy?

Father, my counselle's fair and free;
That erle he is a noble lord,
And whatsoever to him you hight,
I wold not have you breake your word,
Gramercy, Christopher, my sonne,

Thy counsell well it liketh mee;
And if we speed and scape with life,
Well advanced shalt thou bee.

Come you hither, my nine good sonnes,
Gallant men I trowe you bee:
How many of you, my children deare,
Will stand by that good erle and mee?

* Richard Norton of Norton Conyers, .ho with his sons Francis, Christopher, Marmaduke, and Thomas, specially distinguished himself. There were five other sons whose names are not given.

Eight of them did answer make,

Eight of them spake hastilie, O father, till the daye we dye

We'll stand by that good erle and thee.

Gramercy now, my children deare,

You showe yourselves right bold and brave;

And whethersoe'er I live or dye,

A fathers blessing you shal have.

But what sayst thou, O Francis Norton, Thou art mine eldest sonn and heire: Somewhat lyes brooding in thy breast; Whatever it bee, to mee declare.

Father, you are an aged man,
Your head is white, your bearde is
gray;

It were a shame at these your yeares
For you to ryse in such a fray.

Now fye upon thee, coward Francis,

Thou never learnedst this of mee: When thou wert yong and tender of age, Why did I make soe much of thee?

But, father, I will wend with you,

Unarm'd and naked will I bee;
And he that strikes against the crowne,
Ever an ill death may he dee.

Then rose that reverend gentleman,

And with him came a goodlye band To join with the brave Erle Percy,

And all the flower o' Northumberland.

With them the noble Nevill came,

The erle of Westmorland was hee: At Wetherbye they mustred their host, Thirteen thousand faire to see.

Lord Westmorland his ancyent raisde, The Dun Bull he rays'd on hye, And three Dogs with golden collars Were there sett out most royallye.*

The supporters of the Nevilles, Earls of Westmoreland, were two bulls argent, ducally

Erle Percy there his ancyent spred,

The Halfe-Moone shining all so faire :* The Nortons ancyent had the crosse,

And the five wounds our Lord did beare.

Then Sir George Bowes he straitwaye rose, After them some spoyle to make: Those noble erles turn'd backe againe, And aye they vowed that knight to take.

That baron he to his castle fled,

To Barnard Castle then fled hee. The uttermost walles were eathe to win,

The earles have wonne them presentlie.

The uttermost walles were lime and bricke; But though they won them soon anone, Long e'er they wan the innermost walles, For they were cut in rocke of stone.

Then newes unto leeve London came

In all the speede that ever might bee,
And word is brought to our royall queene
Of the rysing in the north countrie.
Her grace she turned her round about,
And like a royall queene shee swore, t

I will ordayne them such a breakfast,
As never was in the north before.

Shee caus'd thirty thousand men be rays'd, With horse and harneis faire to see;

collared gold, armed or, etc. But I have not discovered the device mentioned in the ballad, among the badges, etc., given by that house This, however, is certain, that among those of the Nevilles, Lords Abergavenny (who were of the same family), is a dun cow with a golden collar; and the Nevilles of Chyte in Yorkshire (of the Westmoreland branch) gave for their crest, in 1513, a greyhound's head erased.

*The silver crescent is a well-known crest or badge of the Northumberland family. It was probably brought home from some of the crusades against the Saracens.

†This is quite in character; her Majesty would sometimes swear at her nobles, as well as box their ears.

And now that I a banisht man

Shold bring such evil happe with mee, To cause my faire and noble friends To be suspect of treacherie :

This rives my heart with double woe;
And lever had I dye this day,
Than thinke a Douglas can be false,
Or ever he will his guest betray.

If you'll give me no trust, my lord,
Nor unto mee no credence yield ;
Yet step one moment here aside,
Ile showe you all your foes in field.

Lady, I never loved witchcraft,

Never dealt in privy wyle;
But evermore held the high-waye

Of truth and honour, free from guile.

If you'll not come yourselfe, my lorde, Yet send your chamberlaine with mee; Let me but speak three words with him, And he shall come again to thee.

James Swynard with that lady went,

I never was on English ground,

Ne never saw it with mine eye, But as my book it sheweth mee,

And through my ring I may descrye.

My mother shee was a witch ladye,

And of her skille she learned mee; She wold let me see out of Lough-leven What they did in London citie.

But who is yond, thou lady faire,

That looketh with sic an austerne face? Yonder is Sir John Foster, * quoth shee, Alas! he'll do ye sore disgrace.

He pulled his hatt down over his browe; He wept ; in his heart he was full of woe: And he is gone to his noble Lord,

Those sorrowful tidings him to show.

Now nay, now nay, good James Swynàrd,
I may not believe that witch ladie:
The Douglasses were ever true,

And they can ne'er prove false to mee.

I have now in Lough-leven been
The most part of these years three,