The wear twenty hondrith spear-men good, The wear borne a-long be the watter a Twyde, "Leave off the brytlyng of the dear,” he sayde, For never sithe ye wear on your mothars borne The dougheti Dogglas on a stede “Tell me what' men ye ar," he says, Who gave youe leave to hunte in this The first mane that ever him an answear mayd, "We wyll not tell the 'what' men we ar," he says, But we wyll hount hear in this chays, In the spyte of thyne and of the. “The fattiste hartes in all Chyviat We have kyld, and cast to carry them a-way." "Be my troth," sayd the doughtè Dogglas agayn, "Ther-for the ton of us shall de this day." Then sayd the doughtè Doglas Unto the Lord Persè : "To kyll all thes giltles men, A-las! it wear great pittè. "But, Persè, thowe art a lord of lande, I am a yerle callyd within my contrè; Let all our men uppone a parti stande, And do the battell off the and of me." V. 48, withowte . . . feale. P.C. V. 54, ned. P.C. V. 52, boys look ye tayk. P.C. V. 59, whos. P.C. V. 71, agay. P.C. 80 "Nowe Cristes cors on his crowne," sayd the Lord Persè, "Who-soever ther-to says nay; Be my troth, doughtè Doglas," he says, "Nethar in Ynglonde, Skottlonde, nar France, But, and fortune be my chance, I dar met him, on man for on." Then bespayke a squyar off Northombarlonde, 7 Ric. Wytharynton was his nam; "It shall never be told in Sothe-Ynglonde," he says, "I wat youe byn great lordes twa, I am a poor squyar of lande; I wyll never se my captayne fyght on a fylde, But whyll I may my weppone welde, I wyll not 'fayl' both harte and hande." That day, that day, that dredfull day: The first FIT here I fynde. And you wyll here any mor a' the hountyng a' the Chyviat, 85 90 95 100 THE SECOND FIT. THE Yngglishe men hade ther bowys yebent, The first of arros that the shote off, V. 81, sayd the the. P. C. V. 88, on, i.e. one. V. 3, first, i.e. flight. hountyng. P.C. This is probably corrupted in the MS. for Rog. Widdrington, who was at the head of the family in the reign of K. Edw. III. There were several successively of the names of Roger and Ralph, but none of the name of Richard, as appears from the genealogies in the Herald's office. FIT.-Vide Gloss. Yet bydys the Yerle Doglas uppon the bent, A captayne good yenoughe, And that was sene verament, 5 For he wrought hom both woo and wouche. 10 The Dogglas pertyd his ost in thre, Thrughe our Yngglishe archery The Yngglishe men let thear bowys be, Bryght swordes on basnites lyght. Thorowe ryche male and myne-ye-ple, At last the Duglas and the Persè met, With swordes that were of fyn myllàn. Thes worthè freckys for to fyght, Tyll the bloode owte off thear basnetes sprente "Holde the, Persè," sayd the Doglas, V. 5, byddys. P.C. V. 17, boys. P.C. V. 22, done. P.C. V. 32, ran. P.C. V. 18, briggt. P.C. V. 26, to, i.e. two. V. 33, helde. P.C. Hit hathe strekene the Yerle Duglas Thoroue lyvar and longs bathe The sharp arrowe ys gane, That never after in all his lyffe-days He spayke mo wordes but ane : 45 50 That was,1 "Fyghte ye, my merry men, whyllys ye may, For my lyff-days ben gan." The Persè leanyde on his brande, And sawe the Duglas de; He tooke the dede man be the hande, 55 And sayd, "Wo ys me for the ! "To have savyde thy lyffe, I wold have pertyd with My landes for years thre, 60 For a better man, of hart nare of hande, Was not in all the north countrè." Off all that se a Skottishe knyght, Was callyd Sir Hewe the Mongon-byrry; He sawe the Duglas to the deth was dyght, 65 He rod uppon a corsiare Throughe a hondrith archery; He never styntyde, nar never blane, V. 49, throroue. P.C. 70 9 Wane, i.e. ane, one, sc. man; an arrow came from a mighty one: from a mighty man. This seems to have been a gloss added. He set uppone the Lord Persè A dynte that was full soare; With a suar spear of a myghtè tre Clean thorow the body he the Persè bore, A' the tothar syde that a man myght se 75 A large cloth yard and mare: Towe bettar captayns wear nat in Cristiantè, An archar off Northomberlonde ; 80 He bar a bende-bow in his hande, An arow, that a cloth yarde was lang, A dynt that was both sad and soar, 85 He sat on Sir Hewe the Mongon-byrry. The dynt yt was both sad and 'soar,' The swane-fethars, that his arrowe bar, With his hart-blood the wear wete.2 90 Ther was never a freake wone foot wolde fle, But still in stour dyd stand, Heawyng on yche othar, whyll the myght dre, With many a bal-ful brande. 2 This incident is taken from the battle of Otterbourn; in which Sir Hugh Montgomery, Knt. (son of John Lord Montgomery), was slain with an arrow.-Vide Crawfurd's Peerage. |