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“Be my feth,” sayd the dougheti Doglas The wear twenti hondrith spear-men

" agayn,

good, “I wyll let that hontyng yf that I withoute any feale ; may.”

The wear borne along be the watter a

Then the Persë owt off Banborowe cam, yth bowndës of Tividale.

with him a myghtee meany, With fifteen hondrith archares bold off “Leave of the brytlyng of the dear,” blood and bone;

he says, the wear chosen owt of shyars thre. "and to your boys lock ye tayk

good hede; This begane on a Monday at morn, For never sithe ye wear on your mothars in Cheviat the hillys so he;

borne The chylde may rue that ys unborn,

had ye never so mickle nede." it wos the more pittë.

The dougheti Dogglas on a stede, The dryvars thorowe the woodës went, he rode alle his men beforne; for to reas the dear;

His armor glytteryde as dyd a glede ; Bomen byckarte uppone the bent

a boldar barne was never born. with ther browd aros cleare.

“Tell me whos men ye ar," he says, Then the wyld thorowe the woodës went, or whos men that

ye on every sydë shear;

Who gave youe leave to hunte in this Greahondës thorowe the grevis glent, Chyviat chays, for to kyll thear dear.

in the spyt of myn and of me.”


This begane in Chyviat the hyls abone. The first mane that ever him an answear

, yerly on a Monnyn-day;

mayd, Be that it drewe to the oware off none, yt was the good lord Persë:

a hondrith fat hartës ded ther lay. We wyll not tell the whoys men we ar,"

he says,

The blewe a mort uppone the bent,

the semblyde on sydis shear; To the quyrry then the Persë went,

to se the bryttlynge off the deare.

"nor whos men that we be; But we wyll hounte hear in this chays,

in the spyt of thyne and of the.

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“The fattiste hartës in all Chyviat
we have kyld, and cast to carry them

“Be my troth,” sayd the doughetë Dog-

glas agay[n], “therfor the ton of us shall de this


At the laste a squyar off Northomber

londe lokyde at his hand full ny; He was

war a the doughetie Doglas commynge, with him a myghttë meany.

Then sayd the doughtë Doglas

unto the lord Persë :
“To kyll alle thes giltles men,

alas, it wear great pit të !

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“Nowe Cristes cors on his crowne," sayd many a doughetë the garde to dy, the lord Persë,

which ganyde them no pryde. “who-so-ever ther-to says nay! Be my troth, doughttë Doglas,” he says, The Ynglyshe men let ther boys be, “thow shalt never se that day,

and pulde owt brandes that wer brighte;

It was a hevy syght to se “Nethar in Ynglonde, Skottlonde, nar bryght swordes on basnites lyght.

France, nor for no man of a woman born, Thorowe ryche male and myneyeple, But, and fortune be my chance,

many sterne the strocke done streght; I dar met him, on man for on.”

Many a freyke that was fulle fre,

ther undar foot dyd lyght. Then bespayke a squyar off Northombarlonde,

At last the Duglas and the Persë met, Richard Wytharyngton was his nam: lyk to captayns of myght and of mayne; “It shall never be told in Sothe-Yng- The swapte togethar tylle the both swat, londe," he says,

with swordes that wear of fyn myllan. "to Kyng Herry the Fourth for sham.

Thes worthë freckys for to fyght, “I wat youe byn great lordës twaw,

ther-to the wear fulle fayne, I am a poor squyar of lande:

Tylle the bloode owte off thear basnetes I wylle never se my captayne fyght on

sprente a fylde,

as ever dyd heal or ra[y]n. and stande my selffe and loocke on, But whylle I may my weppone welde, “Yelde the, Persë," sayde the Doglas, I wylle not (fayle] both hart and hande.” "and i feth I shalle the brynge

Wher thowe shalte have a yerls wagis That day, that day, that dredfull day! of Jamy our Skottish kynge.

the first fit here I fynde; And youe wyll here any mor a the hount- “Thou shalte have thy ransom fre, yng a the Chyviat,

I hight the hear this thinge; yet ys ther mor behynde.

For the manfullyste man yet art thowe

that ever I conqueryd in filde fightThe Yngglyshe men hade ther bowys tynge.”

yebent, ther hartes wer good yenoughe;

“Nay," sayd the lord Persë, The first off arros that the shote off,

“I tolde it the beforne, seven skore spear-men the sloughe. That I wolde never yeldyde be

to no man of a woman born." Yet byddys the yerle Doglas uppon the bent,

With that ther cam an arrowe hastely, à captayne good yenoughe,

forthe off a myght të wane; And that was sene verament,

Hit hathe strekene the yerle Duglas for he wrought hom both woo and wouche. in at the brest-bane.

The Dogglas partyd his ost in thre,

lyk a cheffe cheften off pryde; With suar spears off myghttë tre,

the cum in on every syde:

Thorowe lyvar and longës bathe

the sharpe arrowe ys gane,
That never after in all his lyffe-days

he spayke mo wordës but ane:
That was, “Fyghte ye, my myrry men,

whyllys ye may,
for my lyff-days ben gan.”

Thrughe our Yngglyshe archery

gave many a wounde fulle wyde;

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The Persë leanyde on his brande,

Heawyng on yche othar, whylle the and sawe the Duglas de;

myghte dre, He tooke the dede mane by the hande, with many a balfull brande. and sayd, “Wo ys me for the !

This battell begane in Chyviat "To have savyde thy lyffe, I wolde have an owar befor the none, partyde with

And when even-songe bell was rang, my landes for years thre,

the battell was nat half done. For a better man, of hart nare of hande, was nat in all the north contrë.”

The tocke . . . on ethar hande 1

be the lyght off the mone; Off all that se a Skottishe knyght,

Many hade no strenght for to stande, was callyd Ser Hewe the Monggom- in Chyviat the hillys abon.

byrry; He sawe the Duglas to the deth was Of fifteen hondrith archars of Ynglonde dyght,

went away but seventi and thre; he spendyd a spear, a trusti tre.

Of twenti hondrith spear-men of Skot

londe, He rod uppone a corsiare

but even five and fifti. throughe a hondrith archery : He never stynttyde, nar never blane, But all wear slayne Cheviat within ; tylle he cam to the good lord Persë. the hade no strength]e to stand on

hy; He set uppone the lorde Persë

The chylde may rue that ys unborne, a dynte that was full soare;

it was the mor pittë. With a suar spear of a myghttë tre clean thorow the body he the Persë ber, Thear was slayne, withe the lord Persë,

Sir Johan of Agerstone, A the tothar syde that a man myght se Ser Rogar, the hinde Hartly, a large cloth-yard and mare:

Ser Wyllyam, the bolde Hearone. Towe bettar captayns wear nat in Cristiantë

Ser Jorg, the worthë Loumle, then that day slan wear ther.

a knyghte of great renowen,

Ser Raff, the ryche Rugbe, An archar off Northomberlonde

with dyntes wear beaten dowene. say slean was the lord Persë; He bar a bende bowe in his hand,

For Wetharryngton my harte was wo, was made off trusti tre.

that ever he slayne shulde be;

For when both his leggis wear hewyne An arow, that a cloth-yarde was lang, to the harde stele halyde he;

yet he knyled and fought on hys kny. A dynt that was both sad and soar he sat on Ser Hewe the Monggombyrry. Ther was slayne, with the dougheti Duglas,

Ser Hewe the Monggombyrry, The dynt yt was both sad and sar, Ser Davy Lwdale, that worthë was, That he of Monggomberry sete;

his sistars son was he. The swane-fethars that his arrowe bar with his hart-blood the wear wete. Ser Charls a Murrë in that place,

that never a foot wolde fle; Ther was never

freake wone foot Ser Hewe Maxwelle, a lorde he was, wolde fle,

with the Doglas dyd he dey. but still in stour dyd stand,

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So on the morrowe the mayde them At Otterburn begane this spurne byears

uppone a Monnynday; off birch and hasell so g[r]ay;

Ther was the doughtë Doglas slean, Many wedous, with wepyng tears,

The Persë never went away. cam to fache ther makys away.

Ther was never a tym on the MarcheTivydale may carpe off care,

partës Northombarlond may mayk great mon, sen the Doglas and the Persë met, For towe such captaynsasslaynewear thear, But yt ys mervele and the rede blude on the March-parti shall never be non.

ronne not,

as the reane doys in the stret. Word ys commen to Eddenburrowe,

to Jamy the Skottische kynge,
That dougheti Duglas, lyti-tenant of Jhesue Crist our balys bete!


and to the blys us brynge! the Marches,

Thus was the hountynge of the Chivyat : he lay slean Chyviot within.

God sent us alle good endying ! His handdës dyd he weal and wryng, he sayd, “Alas, and woe ys me!

THE NUTBROWNE MAIDE Such an othar captayn Skotland within,” he sayd, "ye-feth shuld never be."

“Be it right or wrong, these men among on

women do complaine, Worde ys commyn to lovly Londone,

Affermyng this, how that it is a labour till the fourth Harry our kynge,

spent in vaine That lord Persë, leyff-tenante of the

To love them wele, for never a dele they Marchis,

love a man agayne;

For lete a man do what he can ther favor he lay slayne Chyviat within.

to attayne, “God have merci on his solle,” sayde Yet yf a newe to them pursue, ther furst

trew lover than Kyng Harry,

Laboureth for nought, and from her "good Lord, yf thy will it be! I have a hondrith captayns in Ynglonde,”

thought he is a bannisshed man.” he sayd, as good as ever was he:

"I say not nay but that all day it is both But, Persë, and I brook my lyffe,

writ and sayde thy deth well quyte shall be.”

That woman's fayth is, as who saythe, all

utterly decayed; As our noble kynge mayd his avowe,

But nevertheless right good witnes in this lyke a noble prince of renowen,

case might be layde For the deth of the lord Persë

That they love trewe and contynew he dyde the battell of Hombylldown;

recorde the Nutbrowne Maide,

Whiche from her love, whan, her to prove, Wher syx and thrittë Skottishe knyghtes

he cam to make his mone, on a day wear beaten down :

Wolde not departe, for in her herte she Glendale glytteryde on ther armor bryght, lovyd but hym allone.” over castille, towar, and town.

“Than betwene us lete us discusse what This was the hontynge off the Cheviat,

was all the maner that tear begane this spurn,

Betwene them too, we wyl also telle all Old men that knowen the grownde well the peyne infere yenoughe

That she was in. Now I begynne, soo call it the battell of Otterburn.

that ye me answere.

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Wherfore alle ye that present be, I pray Why shuld ye nought? for to take you geve an eare.

thought, your labur were in veyne. I am a knyght, I cum be nyght, as secret And thus I do, and pray you, loo! as as I can,

hertely as I can; Sayng, Alas! thus stondyth the case: For I muste too the grene wode goo, I am a bannisshed man.””

alone, a bannysshed man."

"And I your wylle for to fulfylle, in this Now syth that ye have shewed to me wyl not refuse,

the secret of your mynde, Trusting to shewe in wordis fewe that I shalbe playne to you agayne, lyke as men have an ille use,

ye shal me fynde; To ther owne shame wymen to blame, and Syth it is so that ye wyll goo, I wol not causeles them accuse.

leve behynde; Therfore to you I answere now, alle wymen Shal ne'er be sayd the Nutbrowne Mayd to excuse :

was to her love unkind. Myn owne hert dere, with you what Make you redy, for soo am I, all though chiere? I prey you telle anoon;

it were anoon; For in my mynde of all mankynde I love For in my mynde of all mankynde I love but you allon.'”

but you alone.”

“It stondeth so, a dede is do wherefore “Yet I you rede to take good hede, what moche harme shal growe.

men wyl thinke and sey; My desteny is for to dey a shamful dethe, Of yonge and olde it shalbe tolde that ye I trowe,

be gone away, Or ellis to flee; the ton must bee, none Your wanton wylle for to fulfylle, in grene other wey I knowe

wood you to play, But to withdrawe as an outlaw and take And that ye myght from your delyte noo me to my bowe.

lenger make delay. Wherfore adew, my owne hert trewe, none Rather than ye shuld thus for me be called other red I can;

an ylle woman, For I muste to the grene wode goo, alone, Yet wolde I to the grenewodde goo, alone, a bannysshed man."

a bannysshed man."

“O Lorde, what is this worldis blisse, that “Though it be songe of olde and yonge chaungeth as the mone?

that I shuld be to blame, My somers day in lusty May is derked Theirs be the charge that speke so large in before the none.

hurting of my name; I here you saye ‘farwel;' nay, nay, we For I wyl prove that feythful love it is departe not soo sone.

devoyd of shame, Why say ye so? Wheder wyl ye goo? In your distresse and hevynesse to parte alas! what have ye done?

wyth you the same; Alle my welfare to sorow and care shulde And sure all thoo that doo not so, trewe chaunge if ye were gon;

lovers ar they noon; For in my mynde of all mankynde I love But in my mynde of all mankynde I love but you alone.”

but you alone."

“I can beleve it shal you greve, and som- “I councel yow, remembre how it is noo what you distrayne;

maydens lawe But aftyrwarde your paynes harde within Nothing to dought, but to renne out to a day or tweyne

wod with an outlawe; Shal sone aslake, and ye shal take confort For ye must there in your hands bere a to you agayne.

bowe redy to drawe,

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