Lyra Heroica Part 7

Erle Douglas on his milke-white steede, Most like a baron bold, Rode foremost of his company, Whose armour shone like gold.

'Show me,' said he, 'whose men ye be, That hunt so boldly here, That, without my consent, do chase And kill my fallow-deere.'

The first man that did answer make, Was n.o.ble Percy he; Who sayd, 'We list not to declare, Nor shew whose men we be,

Yet we will spend our dearest blood, Thy chiefest harts to slay.'

Then Douglas swore a solemn oath, And thus in rage did say:

'Ere thus I will out-braved be, One of us two shall dye: I know thee well, an erle thou art; Lord Percy, so am I.

But trust me, Percy, pittye it were, And great offence to kill Any of these our guiltlesse men, For they have done no ill.

Let thou and I the battell trye, And set our men aside.'

'Accurst be he,' Erle Percy said, 'By whom this is denied.'

Then stept a gallant squier forth, Witherington was his name, Who said, 'I wold not have it told To Henry our king for shame,

That ere my captaine fought on foote, And I stood looking on.

Ye be two erles,' said Witherington, 'And I a squier alone:

Ile do the best that do I may, While I have power to stand: While I have power to wield my sword, Ile fight with heart and hand.'

THE BATTLE

Our English archers bent their bowes, Their hearts were good and trew, At the first flight of arrowes sent, Full fourscore Scots they slew.

Yet bides Erle Douglas on the bent, As Chieftain stout and good.

As valiant Captain, all unmoved The shock he firmly stood.

His host he parted had in three, As leader ware and try'd, And soon his spearmen on their foes Bare down on every side.

Throughout the English archery They dealt full many a wound; But still our valiant Englishmen All firmly kept their ground,

And, throwing strait their bowes away, They grasped their swords so bright, And now sharp blows, a heavy shower, On s.h.i.+elds and helmets light.

They closed full fast on every side, No slackness there was found; And many a gallant gentleman Lay gasping on the ground.

O Christ! it was a griefe to see, And likewise for to heare, The cries of men lying in their gore, And scattered here and there!

At last these two stout erles did meet, Like captaines of great might: Like lions wode, they laid on lode, And made a cruel fight:

They fought untill they both did sweat With swords of tempered steele; Until the blood like drops of rain They trickling downe did feele.

'Yield thee, Lord Percy,' Douglas said; 'In faith I will thee bringe, Where thou shalt high advanced be By James our Scottish king:

Thy ransome I will freely give, And this report of thee, Thou art the most courageous knight, That ever I did see.'

'No, Douglas,' quoth Erle Percy then, 'Thy proffer I do scorne; I will not yield to any Scot, That ever yet was borne.'

With that, there came an arrow keene Out of an English bow, Which struck Erle Douglas to the heart, A deep and deadly 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 life, 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 very heart doth bleed With sorrow for thy sake, For sure, a more redoubted knight Mischance could never take.'

A knight amongst the Scots there was, Which saw Erle Douglas dye, Who straight in wrath did vow revenge Upon the Lord Percye.

Sir Hugh Mountgomery was he called Who, with a speare most bright, Well-mounted on a gallant steed, Ran fiercely through the fight,

And past the English archers all, Without or dread or feare, And through Erle Percy's body then He thrust his hateful speare.

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 n.o.bles dye, Whose courage none could staine!

An English archer then perceived The n.o.ble 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 he;

Against Sir Hugh Mountgomerye So right the shaft he set, The grey goose-winge that was thereon In his heart's bloode was wet.

This fight did last from breake of day Till setting of the sun; For when they rung the evening-bell, The battle scarce was done.

THE SLAIN

With stout Erle Percy, there was slaine Sir John of Egerton, Sir Robert Ratcliff, and Sir John, Sir James, that bold barn;

And with Sir George and stout Sir James, Both knights of good account, Good Sir Ralph Raby there was slaine, Whose prowesse did surmount.

For Witherington needs must I wayle, As one in doleful dumpes; For when his legs were smitten off, He fought upon his stumpes.

And with Erle Douglas, there was slaine Sir Hugh Mountgomerye, Sir Charles Murray, that from the field One foote would never flee;

Sir Charles Murray, of Ratcliff, too, His sister's sonne was he; Sir David Lamb, so well esteemed, Yet saved he could not be;

And the Lord Maxwell in like case Did with Erle Douglas dye: Of twenty hundred Scottish speares, Scarce fifty-five did flye.

Of fifteen hundred Englishmen, Went home but fifty-three: The rest were slaine in Chevy-Chace, Under the greene woode tree.

Next day did many widdowes come, Their husbands to bewayle; They washt their wounds in brinish teares, But all wold not prevayle;

Their bodyes, bathed in purple gore, They bore with them away; They kist them dead a thousand times, Ere they were clad in clay.

THE TIDINGS