The English and Scottish Popular Ballads :: :: University of Virginia Library

‘The Baron of Grastoke ys com out of the west,
Wyth hym a noble companye;
All they loge at your fathers thys nyght,
And the batell fayne wolde they see.’

39

‘For Jhesus love,’ sayd Syr Harye Perssy,
‘That dyed for yow and me,
Wende to my lorde my father agayne,
And saye thow sawe me not wyth yee.

40

‘My trowth ys plyght to yonne Skottysh knyght,
It nedes me not to layne,
That I schulde byde hym vpon thys bent,
And I haue hys trowth agayne.

41

‘And if that I w[e]ynde of thys growende,
For soth, onfowghten awaye,
He wolde me call but a knowarde knyght
In hys londe another daye.

42

‘Yet had I lever to be rynde and rente,
By Mary, that mykkel maye,
Then ever my manhood schulde be reprovyd
Wyth a Skotte another day.

43

‘Wherfore schote, archars, for my sake,
And let scharpe arowes flee;
Mynstrells, playe vp for your waryson,
And well quyt it schall bee.

44

‘Euery man thynke on hys trewe-love,
And marke hym to the Trenite;
For to God I make myne avowe
Thys day wyll I not flee.’

45

The blodye harte in the Dowglas armes,
Hys standerde stode on hye,
That euery man myght full well knowe;
By syde stode starrës thre.

46

The whyte lyon on the Ynglyssh perte,
For soth as I yow sayne,
The lucettes and the cressawntes both;
The Skottes favght them agayne.

47

Vpon Sent Androwe lowde can they crye,
And thrysse they schowte on hyght,
And syne merked them one owr Ynglysshe men,
As I haue tolde yow ryght.

48

Sent George the bryght, owr ladyes knyght,
To name they were full fayne;
Owr Ynglyssh men they cryde on hyght,
And thrysse the schowtte agayne.

49

Wyth that scharpe arowes bygan to flee,
I tell yow in sertayne;

298

Men of armes byganne to joyne,
Many a dowghty man was ther slayne.

50

The Perssy and the Dowglas mette,
That ether of other was fayne;
They swapped together whyll that the swette,
Wyth swordes of fyne collayne:

51

Tyll the bloode from ther bassonnettes ranne,
As the roke doth in the rayne;
‘Yelde the to me,’ sayd the Dowglas,
‘Or elles thow schalt be slayne.

52

‘For I see by thy bryght bassonet,
Thow arte sum man of myght;
And so I do by thy burnysshed brande;
Thow arte an yerle, or elles a knyght.’

53

‘By my good faythe,’ sayd the noble Perssye,
‘Now haste thow rede full ryght;
Yet wyll I never yelde me to the,
Whyll I may stonde and fyght.’

54

They swapped together whyll that they swette,
Wyth swordës scharpe and long;
Ych on other so faste thee beette,
Tyll ther helmes cam in peyses dowyn.

55

The Perssy was a man of strenghth,
I tell yow in thys stounde;
He smote the Dowglas at the swordës length
That he felle to the growynde.

56

The sworde was scharpe, and sore can byte,
I tell yow in sertayne;
To the harte he cowde hym smyte,
Thus was the Dowglas slayne.

57

The stonderdes stode styll on eke a syde,
Wyth many a grevous grone;
Ther the fowght the day, and all the nyght,
And many a dowghty man was slayne.

58

Ther was no freke that ther wolde flye,
But styffely in stowre can stond,
Ychone hewyng on other whyll they myght drye,
Wyth many a bayllefull bronde.

59

Ther was slayne vpon the Skottës syde,
For soth and sertenly,
Syr James a Dowglas ther was slayne,
That day that he cowde dye.

60

The yerlle of Mentaye he was slayne,
Grysely groned vpon the growynd;
Syr Davy Skotte, Syr Water Stewarde,
Syr Jhon of Agurstoune.

61

Syr Charllës Morrey in that place,
That never a fote wold flee;
Syr Hewe Maxwell, a lorde he was,
Wyth the Dowglas dyd he dye.

62

Ther was slayne vpon the Skottës syde,
For soth as I yow saye,
Of fowre and forty thowsande Scottes
Went but eyghtene awaye.

63

Ther was slayne vpon the Ynglysshe syde,
For soth and sertenlye,
A gentell knyght, Syr Jhon Fechewe,
Yt was the more pety.

64

Syr James Hardbotell ther was slayne,
For hym ther hartes were sore;
The gentyll Lovell ther was slayne,
That the Perssys standerd bore.

65

Ther was slayne vpon the Ynglyssh perte,
For soth as I yow saye,
Of nyne thowsand Ynglyssh men
Fyve hondert cam awaye.

66

The other were slayne in the fylde;
Cryste kepe ther sowlles from wo!
Seyng ther was so fewe fryndes
Agaynst so many a foo.

67

Then on the morne they mayde them beerys
Of byrch and haysell graye;
Many a wydowe, wyth wepyng teyres,
Ther makes they fette awaye.

68

Thys fraye bygan at Otterborne,
Bytwene the nyght and the day;
Ther the Dowglas lost hys lyffe,
And the Perssy was lede awaye.

69

Then was ther a Scottysh prisoner tayne,
Syr Hewe Mongomery was hys name;
For soth as I yow saye,
He borowed the Perssy home agayne.

70

Now let vs all for the Perssy praye
To Jhesu most of myght,
To bryng hys sowlle to the blysse of heven,
For he was a gentyll knyght.

299

THE BATTLE OF OTTERBURN—B

[_]

a. Herd's MS., I, 149, II, 30; Herd's Scottish Songs, 1776, I, 153. b. Scott's Minstrelsy, I, 31, 1802, “corrected” from Herd, 1776, “by a MS. copy.”

1

It fell and about the Lammas time,
When husbandmen do win their hay,
Earl Douglass is to the English woods,
And a' with him to fetch a prey.

2

He has chosen the Lindsays light,
With them the gallant Gordons gay,
And the Earl of Fyfe, withouten strife,
And Sir Hugh Montgomery upon a grey.

3

They have taken Northumberland,
And sae hae they the north shire,
And the Otter Dale, they hae burnt it hale,
And set it a' into fire.

4

Out then spake a bonny boy,
That servd ane o Earl Douglass kin;
Methinks I see an English host,
A-coming branken us upon.

5

‘If this be true, my little boy,
And it be troth that thou tells me,
The brawest bower in Otterburn
This day shall be thy morning-fee.

6

‘But if it be fase, my little boy,
But and a lie that thou tells me,
On the highest tree that's in Otterburn
With my ain hands I'll hing thee high.’

7

The boy's taen out his little penknife,
That hanget low down by his gare,
And he gaed Earl Douglass a deadly wound,
Alack! a deep wound and a sare.

8

Earl Douglas said to Sir Hugh Montgomery,
Take thou the vanguard o the three,
And bury me at yon braken-bush,
That stands upon yon lilly lee.

9

Then Percy and Montgomery met,
And weel a wot they warna fain;
They swaped swords, and they twa swat,
And ay the blood ran down between.

10

‘O yield thee, yield thee, Percy,’ he said,
‘Or else I vow I'll lay thee low;’
‘Whom to shall I yield,’ said Earl Percy,
‘Now that I see it maun be so?’

11

‘O yield thee to yon braken-bush,
That grows upon yon lilly lee;
[OMITTED]
[OMITTED]

12

‘I winna yield to a braken-bush,
Nor yet will I unto a brier;
But I would yield to Earl Douglass,
Or Sir Hugh Montgomery, if he was here.’

13

As soon as he knew it was Montgomery,
He stuck his sword's point in the ground,
And Sir Hugh Montgomery was a courteous knight,
And he quickly broght him by the hand.

14

This deed was done at Otterburn,
About the breaking of the day;
Earl Douglass was buried at the braken-bush,
And Percy led captive away.

THE BATTLE OF OTTERBURN—C

[_]

Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, 1833, I, 345. B completed by two copies “obtained from the recitation of old persons residing at the head of Ettrick Forest.”

1

It fell about the Lammas tide,
When the muir-men win their hay,
The doughty Douglas bound him to ride
Into England, to drive a prey.

2

He chose the Gordons and the Grœmes,
With them the Lindesays, light and gay;
But the Jardines wald not with him ride,
And they rue it to this day.

3

And he has burnd the dales of Tyne,
And part of Bambrough shire,
And three good towers on Reidswire fells,
He left them all on fire.

4

And he marchd up to Newcastle,
And rode it round about:
‘O wha's the lord of this castle?
Or wha's the lady o't?’

300

5

But up spake proud Lord Percy then,
And O but he spake hie!
I am the lord of this castle,
My wife's the lady gay.

6

‘If thou'rt the lord of this castle,
Sae weel it pleases me,
For, ere I cross the Border fells,
The tane of us shall die.’

7

He took a lang spear in his hand,
Shod with the metal free,
And for to meet the Douglas there
He rode right furiouslie.

8

But O how pale his lady lookd,
Frae aff the castle-wa,
When down before the Scottish spear
She saw proud Percy fa.

9

‘Had we twa been upon the green,
And never an eye to see,
I wad hae had you, flesh and fell;
But your sword sall gae wi me.’

10

‘But gae ye up to Otterbourne,
And, wait there dayis three,
And, if I come not ere three dayis end,
A fause knight ca ye me.’

11

‘The Otterbourne's a bonnie burn;
'Tis pleasant there to be;
But there is nought at Otterbourne
To feed my men and me.

12

‘The deer rins wild on hill and dale,
The birds fly wild from tree to tree;
But there is neither bread nor kale
To fend my men and me.

13

‘Yet I will stay at Otterbourne,
Where you shall welcome be;
And, if ye come not at three dayis end,
A fause lord I'll ca thee.’

14

‘Thither will I come,’ proud Percy said,
‘By the might of Our Ladye;’
‘There will I bide thee,’ said the Douglas,
‘My troth I plight to thee.’

15

They lighted high on Otterbourne,
Upon the bent sae brown;
They lighted high on Otterbourne,
And threw their pallions down.

16

And he that had a bonnie boy,
Sent out his horse to grass;
And he that had not a bonnie boy,
His ain servant he was.

17

But up then spake a little page,
Before the peep of dawn:
‘O waken ye, waken ye, my good lord,
For Percy's hard at hand.’

18

‘Ye lie, ye lie, ye liar loud!
Sae loud I hear ye lie:
For Percy had not men yestreen
To dight my men and me.

19

‘But I have dreamd a dreary dream,
Beyond the Isle of Sky;
I saw a dead man win a fight,
And I think that man was I.’

20

He belted on his guid braid sword,
And to the field he ran,
But he forgot the helmet good,
That should have kept his brain.

21

When Percy wi the Douglas met,
I wat he was fu fain;
They swakked their swords, till sair they swat,
And the blood ran down like rain.

22

But Percy with his good broad sword,
That could so sharply wound,
Has wounded Douglas on the brow,
Till he fell to the ground.

23

Then he calld on his little foot-page,
And said, Run speedilie,
And fetch my ain dear sister's son,
Sir Hugh Montgomery.

24

‘My nephew good,’ the Douglas said,
‘What recks the death of ane!
Last night I dreamd a dreary dream,
And I ken the day's thy ain.

25

‘My wound is deep; I fain would sleep;
Take thou the vanguard of the three,
And hide me by the braken-bush,
That grows on yonder lilye lee.

26

‘O bury me by the braken-bush,
Beneath the blooming brier;
Let never living mortal ken
That ere a kindly Scot lies here.’

301

27

He lifted up that noble lord,
Wi the saut tear in his ee;
He hid him in the braken-bush,
That his merrie men might not see.

28

The moon was clear, the day drew near,
The spears in flinders flew,
But mony a gallant Englishman
Ere day the Scotsmen slew.

29

The Gordons good, in English blood
They steepd their hose and shoon;
The Lindsays flew like fire about,
Till all the fray was done.

30

The Percy and Montgomery met,
That either of other were fain;
They swapped swords, and they twa swat,
And aye the blood ran down between.

31

‘Now yield thee, yield thee, Percy,’ he said,
‘Or else I vow I'll lay thee low!’
‘To whom must I yield,’ quoth Earl Percy,
‘Now that I see it must be so?’

32

‘Thou shalt not yield to lord nor loun,
Nor yet shalt thou yield to me;
But yield thee to the braken-bush,
That grows upon yon lilye lee.’

33

‘I will not yield to a braken-bush,
Nor yet will I yield to a brier;
But I would yield to Earl Douglas,
Or Sir Hugh the Montgomery, if he were here.’

34

As soon as he knew it was Montgomery,
He struck his sword's point in the gronde;
The Montgomery was a courteous knight,
And quickly took him by the honde.

35

This deed was done at the Otterbourne,
About the breaking of the day;
Earl Douglas was buried at the braken-bush,
And the Percy led captive away.

THE BATTLE OF OTTERBURN—D

[_]

Finlay's Scottish Ballads, I, xviii f; from recitation.

1

Then out an spak a little wee boy,
And he was near o Percy's kin:
Methinks I see the English host
A coming branking us upon.

2

Wi nine waggons scaling wide,
And seven banners bearing high;
It wad do any living gude
To see their bonny colours fly.

THE BATTLE OF OTTERBURN—E

[_]

Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. lxxi, note 30; from a recited copy.

‘O yield thee to yon braken-bush,
That grows upon yon lilly lie;
For there lies aneth yon braken-bush
What aft has conquerd mae than thee.’