They fought untill they both did sweat, with swords of tempered steele ;

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 decpe 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.1

A knight amongst the Scotts 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;

1 Earl Percy's lamentation over his enemy is generous, beautiful, and pas sionate. That beautiful line, "taking the dead man by the hand,' will put the reader in mind of Æneas' behaviour towards Lausus, whom he himself had slain, as he came to the rescue of his aged father.”—Addison.

And past the English archers all, without all dread or feare;

And through Erle Percye's 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 hart's bloode was wett.1

This fight did last from breake of day till setting of the

sun;

For when they rung the evening bell,2 the battel scarce was done.

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

Sir Robert Ratcliff,3 and Sir John, Sir James that bold

barron;

And with Sir George and stout Sir James, both knights of good account,

Good Sir Ralph Raby' there was slaine, whose prowesse did surmount.

The thought in this stanza was never touched by any other poet, and is such an one as would have shined in Homer or Virgil.-Addison.

2 Se. The curfew bell, usually rung at eight o'clock; to which the modernizer apparently alludes, instead of the "Evensong bell," or bell for vespers, of the original author.

3 A distinguished family in Northumberland.

Either one of the ancient possessors of Raby Castle, in the county of Durham, or a corruption of Rokeby, the name of an eminent family in York. hire.

For Witherington needs must I wayle, as one in doleful

dumpes;1

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 sister's 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.

The newes was brought to Eddenborrow, where Scottland's 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-Cliase:

"I, as one in deep concern, must lament." Butler has pleasantly parodied this stanza in the description of Hudibras:-

"Enragèd thus, some in the rear
Attacked him, and some everywhere,
Till down he fell; yet falling fought,
And, being down, still laid about;
As Widdrington, in doleful dumps,

Is said to fight upon his stumps."-Part i. c. 3.

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 Percye's 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.1

DEATH'S FINAL CONQUEST.

THIS solemn funeral song is inserted here as a kind of Dirge to the foregoing piece. It is taken from "The Contention of Ajax and Ulysses," by James Shirley, b. 1594; d. October 29, 1666. The poem was a favourite of Charles II., to whom, as we are told by Oldys, it was often sung by " Old Bowman."

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:
Sceptre and crown

Must tumble down,

And in the dust be equal made

With the poor crooked scythe and spade.

1 "In this... year, 1436, according to Hector Boethius, was fought the battle of Pepperden, not far from the Cheviot Hills, between the Earl of Northumberland (second earl, son of Hotspur], and Earl William Douglas, of Angus, with a small army of about four thousand men each, in which the latter had the advantage. As this seems to have been a private conflict between these two great chieftains of the Borders rather than a national war, it has been thought to have given rise to the celebrated old ballad of Chevy-Chase,' which, to render it more pathetic and interesting, has been heightened with tragical incidents wholly fictitious."-See Ridpath's "Border Hist.," 4to., p. 401.

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.

THE RISING IN THE NORTH.

THE subject of this Ballad is the great Northern Insurrection, in the twelfth year of Elizabeth, 1569. It happened in this manner :

"A scheme for a marriage between Mary, then a prisoner in England, and the Duke of Norfolk, came to the knowledge of Elizabeth, who immediately committed the Duke to the Tower, and summoned the Earls of Northumberland and Westmoreland, by whom the alliance was encouraged, to appear at Court. A report that a party of his enemies were come to seize him determined Northumberland to fly hastily from Topcliffe, in Yorkshire, to the house of his friend the Earl of Westmoreland. The country' gathering, and urging him to take up arms, they raised their standards, in behalf of the old religion, the settlement of the Crown, and the protection of the ancient nobility. The attempt failed, chiefly from want of money and provisions. The insurgents soon melted away, and the advance of Lord Sussex, at the head of a large body of troops, completed the rout. The victory, nearly bloodless, was disgraced by the utmost cruelty; Sir George Bowes, Marshal of the army, making his boast that for sixty miles in length and forty in breadth, between Newcastle and Wetherby, there was scarcely a town or a village where he had not executed some of the inhabitants."

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 ladie:1

I heard a bird sing in mine eare,
That I must either fight, or flee.

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