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Northumberland Betrayed by Douglas

'How long shall fortune faile me nowe,
And harrowe me with fear and dread?
How long shall I in bale abide,
In misery my life to lead?

'To fall from my bliss, alas the while!
It was my sore and heavye lott:
And I must leave my native land,
And I must live a man forgot.

'One gentle Armstrong I doe ken,
A Scot he is, much bound to mee;
He dwelleth on the Border side,
To him I'll goe right privilie.'

Thus did the noble Percy 'plaine,
With a heavy heart and wel-away,
When he with all his gallant men
On Bramham moor had lost the day.

But when he to the Armstrongs came,
They dealt with him all treacherouslye;
For they did strip that noble erle,
And ever an ill death may they dye!

False Hector to Earl Murray sent,
To shew him where his guest did hide,
Who sent him to te Lough-leven,
With William Douglas to abide.

And when he to the Douglas came,
He halched him right courteouslie;
Say'd, 'Welcome, welcome, noble earle,
Here thou shalt safelye bide with mee.'

When he had in Lough-leven been
Many a month and many a day,
To the regent the lord warden sent,
That banisht erle for to betray.

He offered him great store of gold,
And wrote a letter fair to see,
Saying, 'Good my Lord, grant me my boon,
And yield that banisht man to mee.'

Erle Percy at the supper sate,
With many a goodly gentleman;
The wylie Douglas then bespake,
And thus to flyte with him began.

'What makes you be so sad, my Lord,
And in your mind so sorrowfullye?
To-morrow a shootinge will bee held
Among the lords of the North countrye.

'The butts are sett, the shootinge's made,
And there will be great royaltye;
And I am sworne into my bille,
Thither to bring my Lord Percye.'

'I'll give thee my hand, thou gentle Douglas,
And here by my true faith,' quoth hee,
'If thou wilt ride to the worldes end
I will ryde in thy companye.'

And then bespake a lady faire,
Mary a Douglas was her name;
'You shall bide here, good English Lord,
My brother is a traiterous man.

'He is a traitor stout and stronge,
As I tell you in privitie;
For he hath tane liverance of the erle
Into England nowe to 'liver thee.'

'Now nay, now nay, thou goodly lady,
The regent is a noble lord;
Ne for the gold in all England,
The Douglas wold not break his word.

'When the regent was a banisht man,
With me he did faire welcome find;
And whether weal or woe betide,
I still shall find him true and kind.

'Between England and Scotland it wold breake truce,
And friends againe they wold never bee,
If they shold 'liver a banisht erle,
Was driven out of his own countrie.'

'Alas! alas! my Lord,' she sayes,
'Nowe micke is their traitorie;
Then lett my brother ryde his wayes,
And tell those English lords from thee,

'How that you cannot with him ryde,
Because you are in an ile of the sea,
Then ere my brother come againe,
To Edenborrow castle Ile carry thee.

'To the Lord Hume I will thee bring;
He is well knowne a true Scots lord,
And he will lose both land and life,
Ere he with thee will break his word.'

'Much is my woe,' Lord Percy sayd,
'When I thinke on my own countrie,
When I thinke on the heavye happe
My friends have suffered there for mee.

'Much is my woe,' Lord Percy sayd,
'And sore those wars my minde distresse;
Where many a widow lost her mate,
And many a child was fatherlesse.

'And now that I, a banisht man,
Shold bring such evil happe with mee,
To cause my faire and noble friends
To be suspect of treacherie,

'This rives my heart with double woe;
And lever had I dye this day,
Than thinke a Douglas can be false,
Or ever he will his guest betray.'

'If you'll give me no trust, my Lord,
Nor unto mee no credence yield,
Yet step one moment here aside,
Ile showe you all your foes in field.'

'Lady, I never loved witchcraft,
Never dealt in privy wyle;
But evermore held the high-waye
Of truth and honours, free from guile.'

'If you'll not come yourselfe, my Lorde,
Yet send your chamberlaine with mee,
Let me but speak three words with him,
And he shall come again to thee.'

James Swynard with that lady went,
She showed him through the weme of her ring
How many English lords there were
Waiting for his master and him.

'And who walkes yonder, my good lady,
So royallye on yonder greene?'
'O yonder is the Lord Hunsden:
Alas! he doe you drie and teene.'

'And who beth yonder, thou gay ladye,
That walkes so proudly him beside?'
'That is Sir William Drury,' shee sayd,
'A keene captaine hee is and tryde.'

'How many miles is itt, madame,
Betwixt yond English lords and mee?'
'Marry it is thrice fifty miles,
To saile to them upon the sea.

'I never was on English ground,
Ne never sawe it with mine eye,
But as my book it sheweth mee,
And through my ring I may descrye.

'My mother shee was a witch ladye,
And of her skille she learned mee;
She wold let me see out of Lough-leven
What they did in London citie.'

'But who is yond, thou lady faire,
That looketh with sic an austerne face?'
'Yonder is Sir John Foster,' quoth shee,
'Alas! he'll do ye sore disgrace.'

He pulled his hatt down over his browe;
He wept, in his heart he was full of woe;
And he is gone to his noble lord,
Those sorrowful tidings him to show.

'Now nay, now nay, good James Swynard,
I may not believe that witch ladie;
The Douglasses were ever true,
And they can ne'er prove false to mee.

'I have now in Lough-leven been
The most part of these years three,
Yett have I never had noe outrake,
Ne no good games that I cold see.

'Therefore I'll to yond shooting wend,
As to the Douglas I have hight:
Betide me weale, betide me woe,
He ne'er shall find my promise light.'

He writhe a gold ring from his finger,
And gave itt to that gay ladie:
Sayes, 'It was all that I cold save,
In Harley woods where I cold bee.'

'And wilt thou goe, thou noble Lord?
Then farewell truth and honestie,
And farewell heart, and farewell hand,
For never more I shall thee see.'

The wind was faire, the boatmen call'd,
And all the saylors were on borde;
Then William Douglas took to his boat,
And with him went that noble lord.

Then he cast up a silver wand,
Says, 'Gentle lady, fare thee well!'
The lady fett a sigh soe deep,
And in a dead swoone down shee fell.

'Now let us goe back, Douglas,' he sayd,
'A sickness hath taken yond faire ladie;
If ought befall yond lady but good,
Then blamed for ever I shall bee.'

'Come on, come on, my Lord,' he sayes,
'Come on, come on, and let her bee;
There's ladyes enow in Lough-leven
For to cheere that gay ladie.'

'If you'll not turne yourself, my Lord,
Let me goe with my chamberlaine;
We will but comfort that faire lady
And wee will return to you againe.'

'Come on, come on, my Lord,' he sayes,
'Come on, come on, and let her bee;
My sister is craftye, and wold beguile
A thousand such as you and mee.'

When they had sayled fifty myle,
Now fifty mile upon the sea,
Hee snt his man to ask the Douglas,
When they shold that shooting see.

'Faire words,' quoth he, 'they make fooles faine,
And that by thee and thy lord is seen;
You may hap to think itt soon enough,
Ere you that shooting reach, I ween.'

Jamye his hatt pulled over his browe,
He thought his lord then was betray'd;
And he is to Erle Percy againe,
To tell him what the Douglas sayd.

'Hold upp thy head, man,' quoth his lord,
'Nor therefore lett thy courage fayle;
He did it but to prove thy heart,
To see if he cold make it quail.'

When they had other fifty sayld,
Other fifty mile upon the sea,
Lord Percy called to Douglas himselfe,
Sayd, 'What wilt thou nowe doe with mee?'

'Looke that your brydle be wight, my Lord,
And your horse goe swift as shipp att sea;
Looke that your spurres be bright and sharpe,
That you may pricke her while she'll away.'

'What needeth this, Douglas?' he sayth;
'What needest thou to flyte with mee?
For I was counted a horseman good
Before that ever I mett with thee.

'A false Hector hath my horse,
Who dealt with mee so treacherouslie;
A false Armstrong he hath my spurres,
And all the geere belongs to mee.'

When they had sayled other fifty mile,
Other fifty mile upon the sea,
They landed low by Berwicke side,
A deputed 'laird' landed Lord Percye.

Then he at Yorke was doomde to dye,
It was, alas! a sorrowful sight;
Thus they betrayed that noble earle,
Who ever was a gallant wight.

poem by Anonymous Olde English
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The Rising In The North

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:
'I heare a bird sing in mine eare,
That I must either fight or flee.'

'Now heaven forfend, my dearest Lord,
That ever such harm should hap to thee:
But goe to London to the court,
And faire fall truth and honestie.'

'Now nay, now nay, my Ladye gay,
Alas! thy counsell suits not mee;
Mine enemies prevail so fast,
That at the court I may not bee.'

'O goe to the court yet, good my Lord,
And take thy gallant men with thee:
If any dare to doe you wrong,
Then your warrant they may bee.'

'O goe to the court yet, good my Lord,
And take thy gallant men with thee:
If any dare to doe you wrong,
Then your warrant they may bee.'

'Now nay, now nay, thou Lady faire,
The court is full of subtiltie;
And if I goe to the court, Lady,
Never more I may thee see.'

'Yet goe to the court, my Lord,' she sayes,
'And I myselfe will ryde wi' thee;
At court then for my dearest Lord,
His faithfull borrow I will bee.'

'Now nay, now nay, my Lady deare;
Far lever had I lose my life,
Than leave among my cruell foes
My love in jeopardy and strife.

'But come thou hither, my little foot-page,
Come thou hither unto mee;
To maister Norton thou must go
In all the haste that ever may bee.

'Commend me to that gentleman,
And beare this letter here fro mee;
And say that earnestly I praye,
He will ryde in my companie.'

One while the little foot-page went,
And another while he ran;
Untill he came to his journeys end,
The little foot-page never blan.

When to that gentleman he came,
Down he kneeled on his knee,
And took the letter betwixt his hands,
And lett the gentleman it see.

And when the letter it was redd
Affore that goodlye companye,
I wis, if you the truthe wold know,
There was many a weeping eye.

He sayd, 'Come hither, Christopher Norton,
A gallant youth thou seemst to bee;
What doest thou counsell me, my sonne,
Now that good erle's in jeopardy?'

'Father, my counselle's fair and free;
That erle he is a noble lord,
And whatsoever to him you hight,
I wold not have you breake your word.'

'Gramercy, Christopher, my sonne,
Thy counsell well it liketh me,
And if we speed and scape with life,
Well advanced shalt thou bee.

'Come you hither, my nine good sonnes,
Gallant men I trowe you bee:
How many of you, my children deare,
Will stand by that good erle and mee?'

Eight of them did answer make,
Eight of them spake hastilie,
'O father, till the daye we dye
We'll stand by that good erle and thee.'

'Gramercy now, my children deare,
You showe yourselves right bold and brave;
And whethersoe'er I live or dye,
A fathers blessing you shal have.

'But what sayst thou, O Fancis Norton?
Thou art mine eldest sonn and heire;
Somewhat lyes brooding in thy breast;
Whatever it bee, to mee declare.'

'Father, you are an aged man;
Your head is white, your bearde is gray;
It were a shame at these your yeares
For you to ryse in such a fray.'

'Now fye upon thee, coward Francis,
Thou never learndest this of mee;
When thou wert yong and tender of age,
Why did I make soe much of thee?'

'But, father, I will wend with you,
Unarm'd and naked will I bee;
And he that strikes against the crowne,
Ever an ill death may he dee.'

Then rose that reverend gentleman,
And with him came a goodlye band,
To join with the brave Erle Percy,
And all the flower o' Northumberland.

With them the noble Nevill came,
The Erle of Westmorland was hee.
At Wetherbye they mustred their host,
Thirteen thousand faire to see.

Lord Westmorland his ancyent raisde,
The Dun Bull he rays'd on hye,
And three dogs with golden collars
Were there sett out most royallye.

Erle Percy there his ancyent spred,
The Halfe-Moone shining all soe faire:
The Nortons ancyent had the crosse,
And the five wounds our Lord did beare.

Then Sir George Bowes he straitwaye rose,
After them some spoyle to make;
Those noble erles turn'd backe againe,
And aye they vowed that knight to take.

That baron he to his castle fled,
To Barnard castle then fled hee;
The uttermost walles were eathe to win,
The earles have won them presentlie.

The uttermost walles were lime and bricke,
But thoughe they won them soon anone,
Long e'er they wan the innermost walles,
For they were cut in rocke of stone.

Then newes unto leeve London came,
In all the speede that ever might bee,
And word is brought to our royall queene
Of the rysing in the North countrie.

Her grace she turned her round about,
And like a royall queene shee swore,
'I will ordayne them such a breakfast,
As never was in the North before.'

Shee caus'd thirty thousand men be rays'd,
With horse and harneis faire to see;
She causd thirty thousand men be raised,
To take the earles i' th' North countrie.

Wi' them the false Erle Warwick went,
Th' Erle Sussex and the Lord Hunsden;
Untill they to Yorke castle came,
I wiss, they never stint ne blan.

Now spred thy ancyent, Westmorland,
Thy dun bull faine would we spye:
And thou, the Erle o' Northumberland,
Now rayse thy half-moone up on hye.

But the dun bulle is fled and gone,
And the halfe-moone vanished away:
The earles, though they were brave and bold,
Against soe many could not stay.

Thee, Norton, wi' thine eight good sonnes,
They doom'd to dye, alas for ruth!
Thy reverend lockes thee could not save,
Nor them their faire and blooming youthe.

Wi' them full many a gallant wight
They cruellye bereav'd of life:
And many a childe made fatherlesse,
And widowed many a tender wife.

poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Lord Thomas And Fair Ellinor

Lord Thomas he was a bold forrester,
And a chaser of the kings deere;
Faire Ellinor was a fine woman,
And Lord Thomas he loved her deare.

'Come riddle my riddle, dear mother,' he sayd,
'And riddle us both as one;
Whether I shall marrye with faire Ellinor,
And let the browne girl alone?'

'The browne girl she has got houses and lands,
Faire Ellinor she has got none;
And therefore I charge thee on my blessing,
To bring me the browne girl home.'

And as it befelle on a high holidaye,
As many there are beside,
Lord Thomas he went to faire Ellinor,
That should have been his bride.

And when he came to faire Ellinor's bower,
He knocked there at the ring;
And who was so readye as faire Ellinor,
To lett Lord Thomas withinn?

'What newes, what newes, Lord Thomas,' she sayd,
'What newes dost thou bring to mee?'
'I am come to bid thee to my wedding,
And that is bad newes for thee.'

'O God forbid, Lord Thomas,' she sayd,
'That such a thing should be done;
I thought to have been the bride my selfe
And thou to have been the bride-grome.'

'Come riddle my riddle, dear mother,' she sayd,
'And riddle it all in one;
Whether I shall goe toLord Thomas his wedding,
Or whether shall tarry at home?'

'There are manye that are your friendes, daughter,
And manye a one your foe;
Therefore I charge you on my blessing,
To Lord Thomas his wedding don't goe.'

She cloathed herself in gallant attire,
And her merrye men all in greene;
And as they rid through every towne,
They took her to be some queene.

But when she came to Lord Thomas his gate,
She knocked there at the ring;
And who was so readye as Lord Thomas,
To lett faire Ellinor in.

'Is this your bride?' fair Ellinor sayd;
'Methinks she looks wonderous browne;
Thou mightest have had as faire a woman
As ever trod on the grounde.'

'Despise her not, fair Ellin,' he sayd,
'Despise her not unto mee;
For better I love thy little finger,
Than all her whole bodee.'

This browne bride had a little penknife,
That was both long and sharpe,
And betwixt the short ribs and the long,
She prick'd faire Ellinor's harte.

'O Christ thee save,' Lord Thomas hee sayd,
'Methinks thou lookst wonderous wan;
Thou usedst to look with as fresh a colour,
As ever the sun shone on.'

'O art thou blind, Lord Thomas?' she sayd,
'Or canst thou not very well see?
O dost thou not see my owne hearts bloode
Run trickling down my knee?'

Lord Thomas he had a sword by his side;
As he walked about the halle,
He cut off his brides head from her shoulders,
And threw it against the walle.

He set the hilte against the grounde,
And the point against his harte;
There never three lovers together did meete,
That sooner againe did parte.

poem by Anonymous Olde English
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The Battle Of Otterburn

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

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

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

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

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.

'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.'

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

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

'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.'

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

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

'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.

'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.'

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

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.

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.'

'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.

'But I have dreamed a dreary dream,
Beyond the Isle of Skye;
I saw a dead man win a fight,
And I think that man was I.'

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.

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

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

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

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

'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.

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

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.

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

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

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.

'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?'

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

'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 Montgomery, if he were here.'

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.

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.

poem by Anonymous Olde English
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The Knight and Shepherd's Daughter

There was a shepherds daughter
Came tripping on the waye,
And there by chance a knighte shee mett,
Which caused her to staye.

'Good morrowe to you, beauteous maide,'
These words pronounced hee;
'O I shall dye this daye,' he sayd,
'If Ive not my wille of thee.'

'The Lord forbid,' the maide replyde,
'That you shold waxe so wode!'
But for all that shee could do or saye,
'He wold not be withstood.'

'Sith you have had your wille of mee,
And put me to open shame,
Now, if you are a courteous knighte,
Tell me what is your name?'

'Some do call mee Jacke, sweet heart,
And some do call me Jille;
But when I come to the kings fair courte,
They calle me Wilfulle Wille.'

He sett his foot into the stirrup,
And awaye then he did ride;
She tuckt her girdle about her middle,
And ranne close by his side.

But when she came to the brode water,
She sett her brest and swamme;
And when she was got out againe,
She tooke to her heels and ranne.

He never was the courteous knighte,
To saye, 'Faire maide, will ye ride?'
'And she was ever too loving a maide
To saye, 'Sir Knighte, abide.''

When she came to the kings faire courte,
She knocked at the ring:
So readye was the king himself
To let this faire maid in.

'Now Christ you save, my gracious liege,
Now Christ you save and see;
You have a knighte within your courte
This daye hath robbed mee.'

'What hath he robbed thee of, sweet heart?
Of purple or of pall?
Or hath he took thy gaye gold ring
From off thy finger small?'

'He hath not robbed mee, my liege,
Of purple nor of pall;
But he hath gotten my maiden-head,
Which grieves mee worst of all.'

'Now if he be a batchelor,
His bodye Ile give to thee;
But if he be a married man,
High hanged he shall bee.'

He called downe his merrye men all,
By one, by two, by three;
Sir William used to bee the first,
But nowe the last came hee.

He brought her downe fulle fortye pounde,
Tyed up withinne a glove:
'Faire maid, Ile give the same to thee;
Go seeke thee another love.'

'O Ile have none of your gold,' she sayde,
'Nor Ile have none of your fee;
But your faire bodye I must have,
The king hath granted mee.'

Sir William ranne and fetchd her then
Five hundred pound in golde,
Saying, 'Faire maide, take this to thee,
Thy fault will never be tolde.'

'Tis not the gold that shall mee tempt,'
These words then answered shee,
'But your own bodye I must have,
The king hath granted mee.'

'Would I had dranke the water cleare,
When I did drink the wine,
Rather than any shepherds brat
Shold bee a ladye of mine!

'Would I had drank the puddle foule,
When I did drink the ale,
Rather that ever a shepherds brat
Shold tell me such a tale!'

'A shepherds brat even as I was,
You mote have let mee bee;
I never had come to the kings faire courte,
To crave any love of thee.'

He sett her on a milk-white steede,
And himself upon a graye;
He hung a bugle about his necke,
And soe they rode awaye.

But when they came unto the place,
Where marriage-rites were done,
She proved herself a dukes daughter,
And he but a squires sonne.

'Now marrye me, or not, Sir Knight,
Your pleasure shall be free:
If you make me ladye of one good towne,
Ile make you lord of three.'

'Ah! cursed bee the gold;' he sayd,
'If thou hadst not been trewe,
I shold have forsaken my sweet love,
And have changed her for a newe.'

And now their hearts being linked fast,
They joyned hand in hande:
Thus he had both purse, and person too,
And all at his commande.

poem by Anonymous Olde English
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The More Modern Ballad of Chevy Chace

God prosper long our noble king,
Our liffes and safetyes all;
A woefull hunting once there did
In Chevy-Chace befall.

To drive the deere with hound and horne,
Erle Percy took his way;
The child may rue that is unborne
The hunting of that day.

The sout Erle of Northumberland
A vow to God did make,
His pleasure in the Scottish woods
Three summers days to take;

The cheefest harts in Chevy-Chase
To kill and beare away:
These tydings to Erle Douglas came,
In Scotland where he lay.

Who sent Erle Percy present word,
He wold prevent his sport;
The English Erle not fearing that,
Did to the woods resort,

With fifteen hundred bow-men bold,
All chosen men of might,
Who knew full well in time of neede
To ayme their shafts arright.

The gallant greyhounds swiftly ran,
To chase the fallow deere;
On Munday they began to hunt,
Ere day-light did appeare;

And long before high noone they had
An hundred fat buckes slaine;
Then having din'd, the drovyers went
To rouze the deare againe.

The bow-men mustered on the hills,
Well able to endure;
Theire backsides all, with speciall care,
That day were guarded sure.

The hounds ran swiftly through the woods,
The nible deere to take,
That with their cryes the hills an dales
An eccho shrill did make.

Lord Percy to the quarry went,
To view the tender deere;
Quoth he, 'Erle Douglas promised
This day to meet me heere;

'But if I though he wold not come,
Noe longer wold I stay.'
With that, a brave younge gentleman
Thus to the Erle did say:

'Loe, yonder doth Erle Douglas come,
His men in armour bright;
Full twenty hundred Scottish speres,
All marching in our sight.

'All men of pleasant Tivydale,
Fast by the river Tweede:'
'O cease your sport,' Erle Percy said,
'And take your bowes with speede.

'And now with me, my countrymen,
Your courage forth advance;
For never was there champion yett
In Scotland or in France,

'That ever did on horseback come,
But, if my hap it were,
I durst encounter man for man,
With him to breake a spere.'

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

'Show me,' sayd hee, 'whose men you bee,
That hunt soe boldly heere,
That, without my consent, doe chase
And kill my fallow-deere.'

The man that first did answer make
Was noble Percy hee;
Who sayd, 'Wee list not to declare,
Nor shew whose men wee bee.

'Yet will wee spend our deerest blood,
Thy cheefest harts to slay;'
Then Douglas swore a solempne oathe,
And thus in rage did say;

'Ere thus I will out-braved bee,
One of us two shall dye:
I know thee well, an erle thou art,
Lord Percy, soe 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 bee he,' Erle Percy sayd,
'By whome this is denyed.'

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:
You bee two erles,' sayd Witherington,
'And I a squier alone.

'He doe the best that doe I may,
While I have power to stand;
While I have power to weeld my sword,
Ile fight with hart and hand.'

Our English archers bent their bowes,
Their harts were good and trew;
Att the first flight of arrowes sent,
Full four-score Scots they slew.

Yet bides Earl Douglas on the bent,
As Chieftain stout and good,
As valiant Captain, all unmov'd
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 bows away,
They grasp'd their swords so bright;
And now sharp blows, a heavy shower,
On shields and helmets light.

They clos'd full fast on everye side,
Noe slacknes 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 lyons wood they layd on lode,
And made a cruell 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.

'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 thus 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 strucke Erle Douglas to the heart,
A deepe 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 renowned knight
Mischance cold never take.'

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 Mountgomerye was he call'd,
Who, with a spere most bright,
Well-mounted on a gallant steed,
Ran fiercely through the fight;

And past the English archers all,
Without all dread or feare,
And through Erle Percyes body then
He thrust his hatefull spere

With such a vehement force and might
He did his body gore,
The speare 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-wing that was thereon
In his harts bloode was wett.

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

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

And with Sir George and stout Sir James,
Both knights of good account,
Good Sir Ralph Rabby 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 feeld
One foote wold never flee.

Sir Charles Murray of Ratcliff, too,
His sisters 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-Chace,
Under the greene wood 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 blood,
They bore with them away:
They kist them dead a thousand times,
Ere they were cladd in clay.

This newes was brought to Eddenborrow,
Where Scotlands king did raigne,
That brave Erle Douglas suddenlye
Was with an arrow slaine.

'O heavy newes,' King James did say;
'Scotland can 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-Chace.

'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 Perceys sake.'

This vow full well the king perform'd
After, at Humbledowne;
In one day, fifty knights were slayne,
With lordes of great renowne.

And of the rest, of small account,
Did many thousands dye:
Thus endeth the hunting in Chevy-Chase,
Made by the Erle Percy.

God save our king, and bless this land
In plentye, joy, and peace;
And grant henceforth, that foule debate
'Twixt noblemen may cease!

poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Glasgerion

Glasgerion was a kings owne sonne,
And a harper he was goode;
He harped in the kings chambere,
Where cuppe and caudle stoode,

And soe did hee in the queens chambere,
Till ladies waxed 'glad,'
And then bespake the kinges daughter,
And these wordes thus shee sayd:

'Strike on, strike on, Glasgerion,
Of thy striking doe not blinne;
Theres never a stroke comes oer thy harpe,
But it glads my hart withinne.'

'Faire might he fall,' quoth hee,
'Who taught you nowe to speake!
I have loved you, ladye, seven longe yeere,
My minde I neere durst breake.'

'But come to my bower, my Glasgerion,
When all men are att rest:
As I am a ladie true of my promise,
Thou shalt bee a welcome guest.'

Home then came Glasgerion,
A glad man, lord! was hee:
'And, come thou hither, Jacke my boy,
Come hither unto mee.

'For the kinges daughter of Normandye
Hath granted mee my boone;
And att her chambere must I bee
Beffore the cocke have crowen.

'O master, master,' then quoth hee,
'Lay your head downe on this stone;
For I will waken you, master deere,
Afore it be time to gone.'

But up then rose that lither ladd,
And hose and shoone did on;
A coller he cast upon his necke,
Hee seemed a gentleman.

And when he came to the ladyes chamber,
He thrild upon a pinn:
The lady was true of her promise,
And rose and lett him inn.

He did not take the lady gaye
To boulster nor to bed:
'Nor thoughe hee had his wicked wille,
A single word he sed.'

He did not kisse that ladyes mouthe,
Nor when he came, nor yode:
And sore that ladye did mistrust,
He was of some churls bloud.

But home then came that lither ladd,
And did off his hose and shoone;
And cast the coller from off his necke:
He was but a churcles sonne.

'Awake, awake, my deere master,
The cock hath well-nigh crowen;
Awake, awake, my master deere,
I hold it time to be gone.

'For I have saddled your horse, master,
Well bridled I have your steede,
And I have served you a good breakfast,
For thereof ye have need.'

Up then rose good Glasgerion,
And did on hose and shoone,
And cast a coller about his necke:
For he was a kinge his sonne.

And when he came to the ladyes chambere,
He thrilled upon the pinne;
The lady was more than true of promise,
And rose and let him inn.

'O whether have you left with me
Your bracelet of your glove?
Or are you returned backe againe
To know more of my love?'

Glasgerion swore a full great othe,
By oake, and ashe, and thorne;
'Ladye, I was never in your chambere,
Sith the time that I was borne.'

'O then it was your lither footpage,
He hath beguiled mee:'
Then shee pulled forth a little penkniffe,
That hanged by her knee.

Sayes, 'There shall never noe churles blood
Within my bodye spring:
No churles blood shall eer defile
The daughter of the kinge.'

Home then went Glasgerion,
And woe, good lord! was hee:
Sayes, 'Come thou hither, Jacke my boy,
Come hither unto mee.

'If I had killed a man to-night,
Jacke, I would tell it thee:
But if I have not killed a man to-night,
Jacke, thou hast killed three.'

And he puld out his bright browne sword,
And dryed it on his sleeve,
And he smote off that lither ladds head,
Who did his ladye grieve.

He sett the swords poynt till his brest,
The pummil until a stone:
Throw the falsenesse of that lither ladd,
These three lives were all gone.

poem by Anonymous Olde English
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The Heir of Linne

Part the First

Lithe and listen, gentlemen,
To sing a song I will beginne:
It is of a lord of faire Scotland,
Which was the unthrifty heire of Linne.

His father was a right good lord,
His mother a lady of high degree;
But they, alas! were dead, him froe,
And he lov'd keeping companie.

To spend the daye with merry cheare,
To drinke and revell every night,
To card and dice from eve to morne,
It was, I ween, his hearts delighte.

To ride, to runne, to rant, to roare,
To alwaye spend and never spare,
I wott, an' it were the king himselfe,
Of gold and fee he mote be bare.

Soe fares the unthrifty Lord of Linne
Till all his gold is gone and spent;
And he maun selle his landes so broad,
His house, and landes, and all his rent.

His father had a keen stewarde,
And John o' the Scales was called hee:
But John is become a gentel-man,
And John has gott both gold and fee.

Sayes, 'Welcome, welcome, Lord of Linne,
Let nought disturb thy merry cheere;
Iff thou wilt sell thy landes soe broad,
Good store of gold Ile give thee heere.'

'My gold is gone, my money is spent;
My lande nowe take it unto thee:
Give me the golde, good John o' the Scales,
And thine for aye my lande shall bee.'

Then John he did him to record draw,
And John he cast him a gods-pennie;
But for every pounde that John agreed,
The lande, I wis, was well worth three.

He told him the gold upon the borde,
He was right glad his land to winne;
'The gold is thine, the land is mine,
And now Ile be the Lord of Linne.'

Thus he hath sold his land soe broad,
Both hill and holt, and moore and fenne,
All but a poore and lonesome lodge,
That stood far off in a lonely glenne.

For soe he to his father hight.
'My sonne, when I am gonne,' sayd hee,
'Then thou wilt spend thy lande soe broad,
And thou wilt spend thy gold so free.

'But sweare me nowe upon the roode,
That lonesome lodge thou'lt never spend!
For when all the world doth frown on thee,
Thou there shalt find a faithful friend.'

The heire of Linne is full of golde:
'And come with me, my friends,' sayd hee,
'Let's drinke, and rant, and merry make,
And he that spares, ne'er mote he thee.'

They ranted, drank, and merry made,
Till all his gold it waxed thinne;
And then his friendes they slunk away;
They left the unthrifty heire of Linne.

He had never a penny left in his purse,
Never a penny left but three,
And one was brass, another was lead,
And another it was white money.

'Nowe well-aday,' sayd the heire of Linne,
'Nowe well-aday, and woe is mee,
For when I was the Lord of Linne,
I never wanted gold nor fee.

'But many a trustye friend have I,
And why shold I feel dole or care?
Ile borrow of them all by turnes,
Soe need I not be never bare.'

But one, I wis, was not at home;
Another had payd his gold away;
Another call'd him thriftless loone,
And bade him sharpely wend his way.

'Now well-aday,' said the heire of Linne,
'Now well-aday, and woe is me;
For when I had my landes so broad,
On me they liv'd right merrilee.

'To bed my bread from door to door,
I wis, it were a brenning shame;
To rob and steal it were a sinne;
To worke, my limbs I cannot frame.

'Now Ile away to lonesome lodge,
For there my father bade me wend:
When all the world should frown on mee
I there shold find a trusty friend.'

Part the Second

Away then hyed the heire of Linne,
Oer hill and holt, and moor and fenne,
Untill he came to lonesome lodge,
That stood so lowe in a lonely glenne.

He looked up, he looked downe,
In hope some comfort for to winne:
But bare and lothly were the walles:
'Here's sorry cheare,' quo' the heire of Linne.

The little windowe, dim and darke,
Was hung with ivy, brere, and yewe;
No shimmering sunn here ever shone,
No halesome breeze here ever blew.

No chair, ne table he mote spye,
No chearful hearth, ne welcome bed,
Nought save a rope with renning noose,
That dangling hung up o'er his head.

And over it in broad letters,
These words were written so plain to see:
'Ah! gracelesse wretch, hast spent thine all,
And brought thyselfe to penurie?

'All this my boding mind misgave,
I therefore left this trusty friend:
Let it now sheeld thy foule disgrace,
And all thy shame and sorrows end.'

Sorely shent wi' this rebuke,
Sorely shent was the heire of Linne;
His heart, I wis, was near to brast
With gilt and sorrowe, shame and sinne.

Never a word spake the heire of Linne,
Never a word he spake but three:
'This is a trusty friend indeed,
And is right welcome unto mee.'

Then round his necke the corde he drewe,
And sprang aloft with his bodie,
When lo! the ceiling burst in twaine,
And to the ground came tumbling hee.

Astonyed lay the heire of Linne,
Ne knewe if he were live or dead:
At length he looked, and sawe a bille,
And in it a key of gold so redd.

He took the bill, and lookt it on,
Strait good comfort found he there:
Itt told him of a hole in the wall,
In which there stood three chests in-fere.

Two were full of the beaten golde,
The third was full of white money;
And over them in broad letters
These words were written so plaine to see.

'Once more, my sonne, I sette thee clere;
Amend thy life and follies past;
For but thou amend thee of thy life,
That rope must be thy end at last.'

'And let it bee,' sayd the heire of Linne,
'And let it bee, but if I amend:
For here I will make mine avow,
This reade shall guide me to the end.'

Away then went with a merry cheare,
Away then went the heire of Linne;
I wis, he neither ceas'd ne blanne,
Till John o' the Scales house he did winne.

And when he came to John o' the Scales,
Upp at the speere then looked hee;
There sate three lords upon a rowe,
Were drinking of the wine so free.

And John himself sate at the bordhead,
Because now Lord of Linne was hee;
'I pray thee,' he said, 'good John o' the Scales,
One forty pence for to lend mee.'

'Away, away, thou thriftless loone;
Away, away, this may not bee:
For Christs curse on my head,' he sayd,
'If ever I trust thee one pennie.'

Then bespake the heire of Linne,
To John o' the Scales wife then spake he:
'Madame, some almes on me bestowe,
I pray for sweet Saint Charitie.'

'Away, away, thou thriftless loone,
I swear thou gettest no almes of mee;
For if we shold hang any losel heere,
The first we wold begin with thee.'

Then bespake a good fellowe,
Which sat at John o' the Scales his bord;
Sayd, 'Turn againe, thou heire of Linne;
Some time thou wast a well good lord.

'Some time a good fellow thou hast been,
And sparedst not thy gold and fee;
Therefore Ile lend thee forty pence,
And other forty if need bee.

'And ever I pray thee, John o' the Scales,
To let him sit in thy companie:
For well I wot thou hadst his land,
And a good bargain it was to thee.'

Up then spake him John o' the Scales,
All wood he answer'd him againe:
'Now Christs curse on my head,' he sayd,
'But I did lose by that bargaine.

'And here I proffer thee, heire of Linne,
Before these lords so faire and free,
Thou shalt have it backe again better cheape
By a hundred markes than I had it of thee.'

'I drawe you to record, lords,' he said,
With that he cast him a gods-pennie:
'Now by my fay,' sayd the heire of Linne,
'And here, good John, is thy money.'

And he pull'd forth three bagges of gold,
And layd them down upon the bord:
All woe begone was John o' the Scales,
Soe shent he cold say never a word.

He told him forth the good red gold.
He told it forth with mickle dinne.
'The gold is thine, the land is mine,
And now Ime againe the Lord of Linne.'

Sayes, 'Have thou here, thou good fellowe,
Forty pence thou didst lend mee:
Now I am againe the Lord of Linne,
And forty pounds I will give thee.

'Ile make thee keeper of my forrest,
Both of the wild deere and the tame;
For but I reward thy bounteous heart,
I wis, good fellowe, I were to blame.'

'Now well-aday!' sayth Joan o' the Scales;
'Now well-aday, and woe is my life!
Yesterday I was Lady of Linne,
Now Ime but John o' the Scales his wife.'

'Now fare thee well,' sayd the heire of Linne,
'Farewell now, John o' the Scales,' said hee:
'Christs curse light on me, if ever again
I bring my lands in jeopardy.'

poem by Anonymous Olde English
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The Heir Of Lynne

Of all the lords in faire Scotland
A song I will begin:
Amongst them all dwelled a lord
Which was the unthrifty Lord of Lynne.

His father and mother were dead him froe,
And so was the head of all his kinne;
He did neither cease nor blinne
To the cards and dice that he did run.

To drinke the wine that was so cleere!
With every man he would make merry.
And then bespake him John of the Scales,
Unto the heire of Lynne say'd hee,

Sayes 'how dost thou, Lord of Lynne,
Doest either want gold or fee?
Wilt thou not sell thy land so brode
To such a good fellow as me?

'For . . I . . ' he said,
'My land, take it unto thee;
I draw you to record, my lords all;'
With that he cast him a Gods pennie.

He told him the gold upon the bord,
It wanted never a bare penny.
'That gold is thine, the land is mine,
The heire of Lynne I will bee.'

'Heeres gold enough,' saithe the heire of Lynne,
'Both for me and my company.'
He drunke the wine that was so cleere,
And with every man he made merry.

Within three quarters of a yeare
His gold and fee it waxed thinne,
His merry men were from him gone,
And left himselfe all alone.

He had never a penny left in his purse,
Never a penny but three,
And one was brasse and another was lead
And another was white mony.

'Now well-a-day!' said the heire of Lynne,
'Now well-a-day, and woe is mee!
For when I was the Lord of Lynne,
I neither wanted gold nor fee;

'For I have sold my lands so broad,
And have not left me one penny!
I must go now and take some read
Unto Edenborrow and beg my bread.'

He had not beene in Edenborrow
Nor three quarters of a yeare,
But some did give him and some said nay,
And some bid 'to the deele gang yee!

'For if we should hang some land selfeer,
The first we would begin with thee.'
'Now well-a-day!' said the heire of Lynne,
'Now well-a-day, and woe is mee!

'For now I have sold my lands so broad
That merry man is irke with mee;
But when that I was the Lord of Lynne
Then on my land I lived merrily;

'And now I have sold my land so broade
That I have not left me one pennye!
God be with my father!' he said,
'On his land he lived merrily.'

Still in a study there as he stood,
He unbethought him of a bill,
He unbethought him of a bill
Which his father had left with him.

Bade him he should never on it looke
Till he was in extreame neede,
'And by my faith,' said the heire of Lynne,
'Then now I had never more neede.'

He tooke the bill and looked it on,
Good comfort that he found there;
It told him of a castle wall
Where there stood three chests in feare:

Two were full of the beaten gold,
The third was full of white money.
He turned then downe his bags of bread
And filled them full of gold so red.

Then he did never cease nor blinne
Till John of the Scales house he did winne.
When that he came John of the Scales,
Up at the speere he looked then;

There sate three lords upon a rowe,
And John o' the Scales sate at the bord's head,
And John o' the Scales sate at the bord's head
Because he was the lord of Lynne.

And then bespake the heire of Lynne
To John o' the Scales wife thus sayd hee,
Sayd 'Dame, wilt thou not trust me one shott
That I may sit downe in this company?'

'Now Christ's curse on my head,' she said,
'If I do trust thee one pennye,'
Then bespake a good fellowe,
Which sate by John o' the Scales his knee,

Said 'have thou here, thou heire of Lynne,
Forty-pence I will lend thee,--
Some time a good fellow thou hast beene
And other forty if it need bee.'

They drunken wine that was so cleere,
And every man they made merry,
And then bespake him John o' the Scales
Unto the Lord of Lynne said hee;

Said 'how doest thou heire of Lynne,
Since I did buy thy lands of thee?
I will sell it to thee twenty better cheepe,
Nor ever did I buy it of thee.'

'I draw you to recorde, lords all:'
With that he cast him god's penny;
Then he tooke to his bags of bread,
And they were full of the gold so red.

He told him the gold then over the borde
It wanted never a broad pennye;
'That gold is thine, the land is mine,
And the heire of Lynne againe I will bee.'

'Now well-a-day!' said John o' the Scales' wife,
'Well-a-day, and woe is me!
Yesterday I was the lady of Lynne,
And now I am but John o' the Scales wife!'

Says 'have thou here, thou good fellow,
Forty pence thou did lend me;
Forty pence thou did lend me,
And forty I will give thee,
I'll make thee keeper of my forrest,
Both of the wild deere and the tame.'

But then bespake the heire of Lynne,
These were the words and thus spake hee,
'Christ's curse light upon my crowne
If ere my land stand in any jeopardye!'

poem by Andrew Lang
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Little Musgrave and Lady Barnard

As it fell out on a highe holye daye,
As many bee in the yeare,
When young men and maides together do goe,
Their masses and matins to heare,

Little Musgrave came to the church door,
The priest was at the mass;
But he had more mind of the fine women,
Then he had of our Ladyes grace.

And some of them were clad in greene,
And others were clad in pall;
And then came in my Lord Barnardes wife,
The fairest among them all.

Shee cast an eye on little Musgrave
As bright as the summer sunne:
O then bethought him little Musgrave,
'This ladyes heart I have wonne.'

Quoth she, 'I have loved thee, little Musgrave,
Fulle long and manye a daye:'
'So have I loved you, ladye faire,
Yet word I never durst saye.'

'I have a bower at Bucklesford-Bury,
Full daintilye bedight;
If thoult wend thither, my little Musgrave,
Thoust lig in mine armes all night.'

Quoth hee, 'I thanke yee, ladye faire,
This kindness yee shew to mee;
And whether it be to my weale or woe,
This night will I lig with thee.'

All this beheard a litle foot-page,
By his ladyes coach as he ranne:
Quoth he, 'Thoughe I am my ladyes page,
Yet Ime my Lord Barnardes manne.

'My Lord Barnard shall knowe of this,
Although I lose a limbe.'
And ever whereas the bridges were broke,
He layd him downe to swimme.

'Asleep or awake, thou Lord Barnard,
As thou art a man of life;
Lo! this same night at Bucklesford-Bury
Little Musgrave's abed with thy wife.'

'If it be trew, thou litle foote-page,
This tale thou hast told to mee,
Then all my lands in Bucklesford-Bury
I freelye will give to thee.

'But and it be a lye, thou litle foot-page,
This tale thou hast told to mee,
On the highest tree in Bucklesford-Bury
All hanged shalt thou bee.

'Rise up, rise up, my merry men all,
And saddle me my good steede;
This night must I to Bucklesford-Bury,
God wott, I had never more neede.'

Then some they whistled, and some they sang,
And some did loudlye saye,
Whenever Lord Barnardes horne it blewe,
'Awaye, Musgrave, awaye.'

'Methinkes I heare the throstle cocke,
Methinkes I heare the jaye,
Methinkes I heare Lord Barnardes horne;
I would I were awaye.'

'Lye still, lye still, thou little Musgrave,
And huggle me from the cold;
For it is but some shephardes boye
A whistling his sheepe to the fold.

'Is not thy hawke upon the pearche,
Thy horse eating corne and haye?
And thou a gaye ladye within thine armes, -
And wouldst thou be away?'

By this Lord Barnard was come to the dore,
And lighted upon a stone;
And he pulled out three silver keyes,
And opened the dores eche one.

He lifted up the coverlett,
He lifted up the sheete;
'How now, how now, thou little Musgrave,
Dost find my gaye ladye sweete?'

'I find her sweete,' quoth the little Musgrave,
'The more is my griefe and paine;
Ide gladlye give three hundred poundes
That I were on yonder plaine.'

'Arise, arise thou little Musgrave,
And put thy cloathes nowe on;
It shall never be said in my countree,
That I killed a naked man.

'I have two swordes in one scabbarde,
Full deare they cost my purse;
And thou shalt have the best of them,
And I will have the worse.'

The first stroke that little Musgrave strucke,
He hurt Lord Barnard sore;
The next stroke that Lord Barnard strucke,
Little Musgrave never strucke more.

With that bespake the ladye faire,
In bed whereas she laye,
'Althoughe thou art dead, my little Musgrave,
Yet for thee I will praye;

'And wishe well to thy soule will I,
As long as I have life;
So will I not do for thee, Barnard,
Thoughe I am thy wedded wife.'

He cut her pappes from off her brest,
Great pitye it was to see
The drops of this fair ladyes bloode
Run trickling downe her knee.

'Wo worth, wo worth ye, my merrye men all,
You never were borne for my goode;
Why did you not offer to stay my hande,
When you sawe me wax so woode?

'For I have slaine the fairest sir knighte
That ever rode on a steede;
So have I done the fairest lady
That ever ware womans weede.

'A grave, a grave,' Lord Barnard cryde,
'To putt these lovers in;
But lay my ladye o' the upper hande,
For shee comes o' the better kin.'

poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Psalm 86

Thy gracious ear, O Lord, encline,
O hear me I thee pray,
For I am poor, and almost pine
With need, and sad decay.
Preserve my soul, for *I have trod Heb. I am good, loving,
Thy waies, and love the just, a doer of good and
Save thou thy servant O my God holy things
Who still in thee doth trust.
Pity me Lord for daily thee
I call; 4 O make rejoyce
Thy Servants Soul; for Lord to thee
I lift my soul and voice,
For thou art good, thou Lord art prone
To pardon, thou to all
Art full of mercy, thou alone
To them that on thee call.
Unto my supplication Lord
Give ear, and to the crie
Of my incessant praiers afford
Thy hearing graciously.
I in the day of my distress
Will call on thee for aid;
For thou wilt grant me free access
And answer, what I pray'd.
Like thee among the gods is none
O Lord, nor any works
Of all that other Gods have done
Like to thy glorious works.
The Nations all whom thou hast made
Shall come, and all shall frame
To bow them low before thee Lord,
And glorifie thy name.
For great thou art, and wonders great
By thy strong hand are done,
Thou in thy everlasting Seat
Remainest God alone.
Teach me O Lord thy way most right,
I in thy truth will hide,
To fear thy name my heart unite
So shall it never slide.
Thee will I praise O Lord my God
Thee honour, and adore
With my whole heart, and blaze abroad
Thy name for ever more.
For great thy mercy is toward me,
And thou hast free'd my Soul
Eev'n from the lowest Hell set free
From deepest darkness foul.
O God the proud against me rise
And violent men are met
To seek my life, and in their eyes
No fear of thee have set.
But thou Lord art the God most mild
Readiest thy grace to shew,
Slow to be angry, and art stil'd
Most mercifull, most true.
O turn to me thy face at length,
And me have mercy on,
Unto thy servant give thy strength,
And save thy hand-maids Son.
Some sign of good to me afford,
And let my foes then see
And be asham'd, because thou Lord
Do'st help and comfort me.

poem by John Milton
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Childe Waters

Childe Waters in his stable stoode
And stroakt his milke-white steede;
To him a fayre yonge ladye came
As ever ware womans weede.

Sayes, 'Christ you save, good Childe Waters,'
Sayes, 'Christ you save and see;
My girdle of gold that was too longe,
Is now too short for mee.

'And all is with one childe of yours
I feele sturre at my side;
My gowne of greene it is too straighte;
Before, it was too wide.'

'If the childe be mine, faire Ellen,' he sayd,
'Be mine, as you tell mee,
Then take you Cheshire and Lancashire both,
Take them your owne to bee.

'If the childe be mine, faire Ellen,' he sayd,
'Be mine, as you doe sweare,
Then take you Cheshire and Lancashire both,
And make that childe your heyre.'

Shee sayes, 'I had rather have one kisse,
Childe Waters, of thy mouth,
Than I wolde have Cheshire and Lancashire both,
That lye by north and southe.

'And I had rather have one twinkling,
Childe Waters, of thine ee,
Than I wolde have Cheshire and Lancashire both,
To take them mine owne to bee.'

'To-morrowe, Ellen, I must forth ryde
Farr into the north countree;
The fayrest ladye that I can finde,
Ellen, must goe with mee.'

''Thoughe I am not that ladye fayre,
Yet let me goe with thee:'
And ever I pray you, Childe Waters,
Your foot-page let me bee.'

'If you will my foot-page bee, Ellen,
As you doe tell to mee,
Then you must cut your gowne of greene
An inch above your knee:

'Soe must you doe your yellowe lockes,
An inch above your ee;
You must tell no man what is my name;
My foot-page then you shall bee.'

Shee, all the longe daye Childe Waters rode,
Ran barefoote by his syde,
Yet was he never soe courteous a knighte,
To say, 'Ellen, will you ryde?'

Shee, all the long daye Childe Waters rode,
Ran barefoote thorow the broome,
Yet was hee never soe courteous a knighte,
To say, 'put on your shoone.'

'Ride softlye,' shee sayd, 'O Childe Waters,
Why doe you ryde so fast?
The childe, which is no mans but thine,
My bodye itt will brast.'

Hee sayth, 'Seest thou yonder water, Ellen,
That flows from banke to brimme?' -
'I trust in God, O Childe Waters,
You never will see me swimme.'

But when shee came to the water side,
She sayled to the chinne:
'Nowe the Lord of heaven be my speede,
For I must learne to swimme.'

The salt waters bare up her clothes;
Our Ladye bare up her chinne;
Childe Waters was a woeman, good Lord,
To see faire Ellen swimme!

And when shee over the water was,
Shee then came to his knee:
Hee sayd, 'Come hither, thou fayre Ellen,
Loe yonder what I see.

'Seest thou not yonder hall, Ellen?
Of redd gold shines the yate:
Of twenty-foure faire ladyes there,
The fairest is my mate.

'Seest thou not yonder hall, Ellen?
Of redd golde shines the towre:
There are twenty-four fayre ladyes there,
The fayrest is my paramoure.'

'I see the hall now, Childe Waters,
Of redd golde shines the yate:
God give you good now of yourselfe,
And of your worthye mate.

'I see the hall now, Childe Waters,
Of redd golde shines the towre:
God give you good now of yourselfe,
And of your paramoure.'

There twenty-four fayre ladyes were
A playing at the ball,
And Ellen, the fayrest ladye there,
Must bring his steed to the stall.

There twenty-four fayre ladyes were
A playinge at the chesse,
And Ellen, the fayrest ladye there,
Must bring his horse to gresse.

And then bespake Childe Waters sister,
These were the wordes sayd shee:
'You have the prettyest page, brother,
That ever I did see;

'But that his bellye it is so bigge,
His girdle stands soe hye;
And ever I pray you, Childe Waters,
Let him in my chamber lye.'

'It is not fit for a little foot-page,
That has run throughe mosse and myre,
To lye in the chamber of any ladye,
That weares soe riche attyre.

'It is more meete for a little foot-page,
That has run throughe moss and myre,
To take his supper upon his knee,
And lye by the kitchen fyre.'

Now when they had supped every one,
To bedd they tooke theyr waye:
He sayd, 'Come hither, my little foot-page,
And hearken what I saye.

'Goe thee downe into yonder towne,
And lowe into the streete;
The fayrest ladye that thou canst finde,
Hyre in mine armes to sleepe;
And take her up in thine armes twaine,
For filing of her feete.'

Ellen is gone into the towne,
And lowe into the streete;
The fayrest ladye that shee colde finde
She hyred in his armes to sleepe;
And tooke her up in her armes twaine,
For filing of her feete.

'I praye you nowe, good Childe Waters,
Let mee lye at your feete;
For there is noe place about this house,
Where I may 'saye a sleepe.'

'He gave her leave, and fair Ellen
'Down at his beds feet laye;
This done the nighte drove on apace,
And when it was neare the daye,

Hee sayd, 'Rise up, my little foot-page,
Give my steede corne and haye;
And give him nowe the good black oates,
To carry mee better awaye.'

Up then rose the faire Ellen,
And gave his steed corne and haye;
And soe shee did the good black oates,
To carry him the better awaye.

She leaned her back to the manger side,
And grievouslye did groane;
She leaned her back to the manger side,
And there shee made her moane.

And that beheard his mother deare,
Shee heard 'her woefull woe:'
She sayd, 'Rise up, thou Childe Waters,
And into thy stable goe.

'For in thy stable is a ghost,
That grievouslye doth grone;
Or else some woman laboures with childe,
Shee is soe woe-begone.'

Up then rose Childe Waters soone,
And did on his shirte of silke;
And then he put on his other clothes,
On his bodye as white as milke.

And when he came to the stable dore,
Full still there hee did stand,
That hee mighte heare his fayre Ellen,
Howe shee made her monand.

She sayd, 'Lullabye, mine own dear childe,
Lullabye, deare childe, deare;
I wolde thy father were a kinge,
Thy mothere ladye on a biere.'

'Peace nowe,' hee sayd, 'good, faire Ellen,
Bee of good cheere, I praye;
And the bridale and the churchinge bothe
Shall bee upon one daye.'

poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Sir Andrew Barton

The First Part
'When Flora with her fragrant flowers
Bedeckt the earth so trim and gaye,
And Neptune with his daintye showers
Came to present the monthe of Maye;
King Henrye rode to take the ayre,
Over the river of Thames past hee;
When eighty merchants of London came,
And downe they knelt upon their knee.

'O yee are welcome, rich merchants,
Good saylors, welcome unto mee.'
They swore by the rood, they were saylors good,
But rich merchants they cold not bee.
'To France nor Flanders dare we pass,
Nor Bordeaux voyage dare we fare;
And all for a rover that lyes on the seas,
Who robbs us of our merchant ware.'

King Henrye frownd, and turned him rounde,
And swore by the Lord that was mickle of might,
'I thought he had not beene in the world,
Durst have wrought England such unright.'
The merchants sighed, and said, 'Alas!'
And thus they did their answer frame;
'He is a proud Scott, that robbs on the seas,
And Sir Andrewe Barton is his name.'

The king loot over his left shoulder,
And an angrye look then looked hee;
'Have I never a lorde in all my realme,
Will feitch yond traytor unto mee?'
'Yea, that dare I,' Lord Howard sayes;
If it please your grace to give me leave,
Myselfe wil be the only man.'

'Thou art but yong,' the kyng replyed,
'Yond Scott hath numbred manye a yeare.'
'Trust me, my liege, Ile make him quail,
Or before my prince I will never appeare.'
'Then bowemen and gunners thou shalt have,
And chuse them over my realme so free;
Besides good mariners, and shipp-boyes,
To guide the great shipp on the sea.'

The first man that Lord Howard chose,
Was the ablest gunner in all the realme,
Thoughe he was threescore yeeres and ten;
Good Peter Simon was his name.
'Peter,' sais hee, 'I must to the sea,
To bring home a traytor live or dead;
Before all others I have chosen thee,
Of a hundred gunners to be the head.'

'If you, my lord, have chosen mee
Of a hundred gunners to be the head,
Then hang me up on your mainemast tree,
If I misse my marke one shilling bread.'
My lord then chose a boweman rare,
Whose active hands had gained fame;
In Yorkshire was this gentleman borne,
And William Horseley was his name.

'Horseley,' sayd he, 'I must with speede
Go seeke a traytor on the sea,
And now of a hundred bowemen brave
To be the head I have chosen thee.'
'If you,' quoth hee, 'have chosen mee
Of a hundred bowemen to be the head,
On your main-mast Ile hanged bee,
If I miss twelvescore one penny bread.

With pikes, and gunnes, and bowemen bold,
This noble Howard is gone to the sea;
With a valyant heart and a pleasant cheare,
Out at Thames mouth sayled he.
And days he scant had sayled three,
Upon the 'voyage' he tooke in hand,
But there he mett with a noble shipp,
And stoutely made itt stay and stand.

'Thou must tell me,' Lord Howard said,
'Now who thou art, and what's thy name;
And shewe me where thy dwelling is,
And whither bound, and whence thou came.'
'My name is Henry Hunt,' quoth hee
With a heavye heart, and a carefull mind;
'I and my shipp doe both belong
To the Newcastle that stands upon Tyne.'

'Hast thou not heard, nowe, Henrye Hunt,
As thou hast sayled by daye and by night,
Of a Scottish rover on the seas;
Men call him Sir Andrew Barton, knight?'
Then ever he sighed, and sayd, 'Alas!'
With a grieved mind, and well away,
'But over-well I knowe that wight;
I was his prisoner yesterday.

'As I was sayling uppon the sea,
A Burdeaux voyage for to fare,
To his hach-borde he clasped me,
And robd me of all my merchant ware.
And mickle debts, God wot, I owe,
And every man will have his owne,
And I am nowe to London bounde,
Of our gracious king to beg a boone.'

'That shall not need,' Lord Howard sais;
'Lett me but once that robber see,
For every penny tane thee froe
It shall be doubled shillings three.'
'Nowe God forefend,' the merchant said,
'That you shold seek soe far amisse!
God keepe you out of that traitors hands!
Full litle ye wott what a man hee is.

'Hee is brasse within, and steele without,
With beames on his topcastle stronge;
And eighteen pieces of ordinance
He carries on each side along.
And he hath a pinnance deerlye dight,
St. Andrewes crosse, that is his guide;
His pinnace beareth ninescore men,
And fifteen canons on each side.

'Were ye twentye shippes, and he but one,
I sweare by kirke, and bower, and hall,
He wold overcome them everye one,
If once his beames they doe downe fall.'
'This is cold comfort,' sais my lord,
'To wellcome a stranger thus to the sea:
Yet Ile bring him and his shipp to shore,
Or to Scottland hee shall carrye mee.'

'Then a noble gunner you must have,
And he must aim well with his ee,
And sinke his pinnace into the sea,
Or else hee never orecome will bee.
And if you chance his shipp to borde,
This counsel I must give withall,
Let no man to his topcastle goe
To strive to let his beams downe fall.

'And seven pieces of ordinance,
I pray your honour lend to mee,
On each side of my shipp along,
And I will lead you on the sea.
A glasse Ile sett, that may be seene,
Whether you sayle by day or night;
And to-morrowe, I sweare, by nine of the clocke
You shall meet with Sir Andrewe Barton, knight.'

The Second Part

The merchant sett my lorde a glasse,
Soe well apparent in his sight,
And on the morrowe, by nine of the clocke,
He shewed him Sir Andrewe Barton, knight.
His hachebord it was 'gilt' with gold,
Soe deerlye dight it dazzled the ee;
'Nowe by my faith,' Lord Howarde sais,
'This is a gallant sight to see.

'Take in your ancyents, standards eke,
So close that no man may them see;
And put me forth a white willowe wand,
As merchants use to sayle the sea.'
But they stirred neither top nor mast;
Stoutly they past Sir Andrew by;
'What English churles are yonder,' he sayd,
'That can soe litle curtesye?

'Now by the roode, three yeares and more
- I have been Admirall over the sea,
And never an English nor Portingall
Without my leave can passe this way.'
Then called he forth his stout pinnace;
'Fetch backe yonder pedlars nowe to mee:
I sweare by the masse, yon English churles
Shall all hang att my maine-mast tree.'

With that the pinnace itt shott off;
Full well Lord Howard might it ken;
For itt stroke down my lord's fore mast,
And killed fourteen of his men.
'Come hither, Simon,' sayes my lord,
'Looke that thy word be true, thou said;
For at my maine-mast thou shalt hang,
If thou misse thy marke one shilling bread.'

Simon was old, but his heart itt was bold;
His ordinance he laid right lowe,
He put it in chain full nine yardes long,
With other great shott, lesse and moe,
And he lette goe his great gunnes shott;
Soe well he settled itt with his ee,
The first sight that Sir Andrew sawe,
He see his pinnace sunke in the sea.

And when he saw his pinnace sunke,
Lord, how his heart with rage did swell!
'Nowe cutt my ropes, itt is time to be gon;
Ile fetch yon pedlars backe mysell.'
When my lord sawe Sir Andrew loose,
Within his heart hee was full faine;
'Nowe spread your ancyents, strike up drummes,
Sound all your trumpetts out amaine.'

'Fight on, my men,' Sir Andrewe sais,
'Weale, howsoever this geere will sway;
Itt is my lord admirall of England,
Is come to seeke mee on the sea.'
Simon had a sonne, who shott right well,
That did Sir Andrewe mickle scare;
In att his decke he gave a shott,
Killed threescore of his men of warre.

Then Henrye Hunt, with rigour hott,
Came bravely on the other side;
Soone he drove downe his fore-mast tree,
And killed fourscore men beside.
'Nowe, out alas!' Sir Andrewe cryed,
'What may a man now thinke or say?
Yonder merchant theefe, that pierceth mee,
He was my prisoner yesterday.

'Come hither to me, thou Gordon good,
That aye wast ready att my call;
I will give the three hundred markes,
If thou wilt let my beames downe fall.'
Lord Howard hee then calld in haste,
'Horseley see thou be true in stead;
For thou shalt at the maine-mast hang,
If thou miss twelvescore one penny bread.'

Then Gordon swarved the main-mast tree,
He swarved it with might and maine;
But Horseley with a bearing arrowe,
Stroke the Gordon through the braine;
And he fell unto the haches again,
And sore his deadlye wounde did bleed:
Then word went through Sir Andrewes men,
How that the Gordon hee was dead.

'Come hither to mee, James Hambilton,
Thou art my only sisters sonne;
If thou wilt let my beames downe fall,
Six hundred nobles thou hast wonne.'
With that he swarved the maine-mast tree,
He swarved it with a nimble art;
But Horseley with a broad arrowe
Pierced the Hambilton thorough the heart.

And downe he fell upon the deck,
That with his blood did streame amaine;
Then every Scott cryed, 'Well-away!
Alas a comelye youth is slaine!'
All woe begone was Sir Andrew then,
With griefe and rage his heart did swell;
'Go fetch me forth my amour of proofe,
For I will to the topcastle mysell.

'Goe fetch me forth my armour of proofe;
That gilded is with gold soe cleare;
God be with my brother John of Barton!
Against the Portingalls hee it ware.
And when he had on this armour of proofe,
He was a gallant sight to see;
Ah! nere didst thou meet with living wight
My deere brother, could cope with thee.'

'Come hither, Horseley,' sayes my lord,
'And looke your shaft that itt goe right;
Shoot a good shoote in time of need,
And for it thou shalt be made a knight.'
'Ile shoot my best,' quoth Horseley then,
'Your honour shall see, with might and maine;
But if it were hanged at your mainemast,
I have now left but arrowes twaine.'

Sir Andrew he did swarve the tree,
With right good will he swarved then,
Upon his breast did Horseley hitt,
But the arrow bounded back agen.
Then Horseley spyed a privye place,
With a perfect eye, in a secrette part:
Under the spole of his right arme
He smote Sir Andrew to the heart.

'Fight on, my men,' Sir Andrew sayes,
'A little Ime hurt, but yett not slaine;
Ile but lye downe and bleede a while,
And then Ile rise and fight againe.
Fight on, my men,' Sir Andrew sayes,
'And never flinche before the foe;
And stand fast by St. Andrewes crosse,
Untill you hear my whistle blowe.'

They never heard his whistle blow,
Which made their hearts waxe sore adread:
Then Horseley sayd, 'Abroad, my lord,
For well I wott Sir Andrew's dead.'
They boarded then his noble shipp,
They boarded it with might and maine;
Eighteen score Scots alive they found,
The rest were either maimed or slaine.

Lord Howard tooke a sword in hand,
And off he smote Sir Andrewes head;
'I must have left England many a daye,
If thou wert alive as thou art dead.'
He caused his body to be cast
Over the hatchbord into the sea,
And about his middle three hundred crownes:
'Wherever thou land this will bury thee.'

Thus from the warres Lord Howard came,
And backe he sayled ore the maine;
With mickle joy and triumphing
Into Thames mouth he came againe.
Lord Howard then a letter wrote,
And sealed it with seale and ring;
'Such a noble prize have I brought to Your Grace
As never did subject to a king.

'Sir Andrewes shipp I bring with mee,
A braver shipp was never none;
Nowe hath Your Grace two shipps of warr,
Before in England was but one.'
King Henryes grace with royall cheere
Welcomed the noble Howard home;
'And where,' said he, 'is this rover stout,
That I myselfe may give the doome?'

'The rover, he is safe, my liege,
Full many a fadom in the sea;
If he were alive as he is dead,
I must have left England many a day.
And Your Grace may thank four men i' the ship
For the victory wee have wonne;
These are William Horseley, Henry Hunt,
And Peter Simon, and his sonne.'

'To Henry Hunt,' the king then sayd,
'In lieu of what was from thee tane,
A noble a day now thou shalt have,
Sir Andrewes jewels and his chayne.
And Horseley thou shalt be a knight,
And lands and livings shalt have store;
Howard shall be Erle Surrye hight,
As Howards erst have beene before.

'Nowe, Peter Simon, thou art old,
I will maintaine thee and thy sonne;
And the men shall have five hundred markes
For the good service they have done.'
Then in came the queene with ladyes fair
To see Sir Andrewe Barton, knight;
They weend that hee were brought on shore,
And thought to have seen a gallant sight.

But when they see his deadlye face,
And eyes soe hollow in his head,
'I wold give,' quoth the king, 'a thousand markes,
This man were alive as hee is dead.
Yett for the manfull part hee playd,
Which fought soe well with heart and hand,
His men shall have twelvepence a day,
Till they come to my brother kings high land.'

poem by Anonymous Olde English
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In My Solitary Hours in My Dear Husband his Absence

O Lord, Thou hear'st my daily moan
And see'st my dropping tears.
My troubles all are Thee before,
My longings and my fears.

Thou hitherto hast been my God;
Thy help my soul hath found.
Though loss and sickness me assailed,
Through Thee I've kept my ground.

And Thy abode Thou'st made with me;
With Thee my soul can talk;
In secret places Thee I find
Where I do kneel or walk.

Though husband dear be from me gone,
Whom I do love so well,
I have a more beloved one
Whose comforts far excel.

O stay my heart on Thee. my God,
Uphold my fainting soul.
And when I know not what to do,
I'll on Thy mercies roll.

My weakness. Thou dost know full well
Of body and of mind;
I in this world no comfort have,
But what from Thee I find.

Though children Thou has given me,
And friends I have also,
Yet if I see Thee not through them
They are no joy, but woe.

O shine upon me, blessed Lord,
Ev'n for my Saviour's sake;
In Thee alone is more than all,
And there content I'll take.

O hear me, Lord, in this request
As Thou before hast done,
Bring back my husband, I beseech,
As Thou didst once my son.

So shall I celebrate Thy praise
Ev'n while my days shall last
And talk to my beloved one
Of all Thy goodness past.

So both of us Thy kindness, Lord,
With praises shall recount
And serve Thee better than before
Whose blessings thus surmount.

But give me, Lord, a better heart,
Then better shall I be,
To pay the vows which I do owe
Forever unto Thee.

Unless Thou help, what can I do
But still my frailty show?
If Thou assist me, Lord,
I shall Return Thee what I owe.

poem by Anne Bradstreet
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The Child of Elle

On yonder hill a castle standes,
With walles and towres bedight,
And yonder lives the Child of Elle,
A younge and comely knighte.

The Child of Elle to his garden wente,
And stood at his garden pale,
Whan, lo! he beheld faire Emmelines page
Come trippinge downe the dale.

The Child of Elle he hyed him thence,
Y-wis he stoode not stille,
And soone he mette faire Emmelines page
Come climbing up the hille.

'Nowe Christe thee save, thou little foot-page,
Now Christe thee save and see!
Oh telle me how does thy Ladye gaye,
And what may thy tydinges bee?'

'My Lady shee is all woe-begone,
And the teares they falle from her eyne;
And aye she laments the deadlye feude
Betweene her house and thine.

'And here shee sends thee a silken scarfe,
Bedewde with many a teare,
And biddes thee sometimes thinke on her,
Who loved thee so deare.

'And here shee sends thee a ring of golde,
The last boone thou mayst have,
And biddes thee weare it for her sake,
Whan she is layde in grave.

'For, ah! her gentle heart is broke,
And in grave soone must shee bee,
Sith her father hath chose her a new, new love,
And forbidde her to think of thee.

'Her father hath brought her a carlish knight,
Sir John of the north countraye,
And within three dayes shee must him wedde,
Or he vowes he will her slaye.'

'Nowe hye thee backe, thou little foot-page,
And greet thy ladye from mee,
And telle her that I, her owne true love,
Will dye, or sette her free.

'Nowe hye thee backe, thou little foot-page,
And let thy fair ladye know,
This night will I bee at her bowre-windowe,
Betide me weale or woe.'

The boye he tripped, the boye he ranne,
He neither stint ne stayd,
Untill he came to faire Emmelines bowre,
Whan kneeling downe he sayd:

'O ladye, Ive been thy own true love,
And he greets thee well by mee;
This night will he bee at thy bowre-windowe,
And dye or sette thee free.'

Nowe daye was gone, and night was come,
And all were fast asleepe,
All save the Ladye Emmeline,
Who sate in her bowre to weepe:

And soon shee heard her true loves voice
Lowe whispering at the walle:
'Awake, awake, my deare ladye,
'Tis I, thy true love, call.

'Awake, awake, my Ladye deare,
Come, mount this faire palfraye:
This ladder of ropes will lette thee downe,
Ile carrye thee hence awaye.'

'Nowe nay, nowe nay, thou gentle Knight,
Nowe nay, this may not bee;
For aye sould I tint my maiden fame,
If alone I should wend with thee.'

'O Ladye, thou with a knighte so true
Mayst safelye wend alone;
To my ladye mother I will thee bringe,
Where marriage shall make us one.'

'My father he is a baron bolde,
Of lynage proude and hye;
And what would he saye if his daughter
Awaye with a knight should fly?

'Ah! well I wot, he never would rest,
Nor his meate should do him no goode,
Till he had slayne thee, Child of Elle,
And seene thy deare hearts bloode.'

'O Ladye, wert thou in thy saddle sette,
And a little space him fro,
I would not care for thy cruel father,
Nor the worst that he could doe.

'O Ladye, wert thou in thy saddle sette,
And once without this walle,
I would not care for thy cruel father,
Nor the worst that might befalle.'

Faire Emmeline sighed, faire Emmeline wept,
And aye her heart was woe:
At length he seizde her lily-white hand,
And downe the ladder he drewe.

And thrice he claspde her to his breste,
And kist her tenderlie:
The teares that fell from her fair eyes,
Ranne like the fountayne free.

Hee mounted himselfe on his steede so talle,
And her on a faire palfraye,
And slung his bugle about his necke,
And roundlye they rode awaye.

All this beheard her owne damselle,
In her bed whereas shee ley;
Quoth shee, 'My Lord shall knowe of this,
Soe I shall have golde and fee.

'Awake, awake, thou Baron bolde!
Awake, my noble dame!
Your daughter is fledde with the Child of Elle,
To doe the deede of shame.'

The baron he woke, the baron he rose,
And called his merrye men all:
'And come thou forth, Sir John the knighte;
The ladye is carried to thrall.'

Faire Emmeline scant had ridden a mile,
A mile forth of the towne,
When she was aware of her fathers men
Come galloping over the downe.

And foremost came the carlish knight,
Sir John of the north countraye:
'Nowe stop, nowe stop, thou false traitoure,
Nor carry that ladye awaye.

'For she is come of hye lynage,
And was of a ladye borne,
And ill it beseems thee, a false churles sonne,
To carrye her hence to scorne.'

'Nowe loud thou lyest, Sir John the knighte,
Nowe thou doest lye of mee;
A knight mee gott, and a ladye me bore,
Soe never did none by thee.

'But light nowe downe, my Ladye faire,
Light downe, and hold my steed,
While I and this discourteous knighte
Doe trye this arduous deede.

'But light now downe, my deare Ladye,
Light downe, and hold my horse;
While I and this discourteous knight
Doe trye our valours force.'

Faire Emmeline sighde, faire Emmeline wept,
And aye her heart was woe,
While twixt her love and the carlish knight
Past many a baleful blowe.

The Child of Elle hee fought soe well,
As his weapon he wavde amaine,
That soone he had slaine the carlish knight,
And layde him upon the plaine.

And nowe the baron, and all his men
Full fast approached nye:
Ah! what may Ladye Emmeline doe?
Twere now no boote to flye.

Her lover he put his horne to his mouth,
And blew both loud and shrill,
And soone he saw his owne merry men
Come ryding over the hill.

'Nowe hold thy hand, thou bold Baron,
I pray thee, hold thy hand,
Nor ruthless rend two gentle hearts,
Fast knit in true loves band.

'Thy daughter I have dearly lovde
Full long and many a day;
But with such love as holy kirke
Hath freelye sayd wee may.

'O give consent shee may be mine,
And blesse a faithfull paire;
My lands and livings are not small,
My house and lynage faire.

'My mother she was an earles daughter,
And a noble knyght my sire --'
The baron he frownde, and turnde away
With mickle dole and ire.

Faire Emmeline sighde, faire Emmeline wept,
And did all tremblinge stand;
At lengthe she sprange upon her knee,
And held his lifted hand.

'Pardon, my Lorde and father deare,
This faire yong knyght and mee:
Trust me, but for the carlish knyght,
I never had fled from thee.

'Oft have you callde your Emmeline
Your darling and your joye;
O let not then your harsh resolves
Your Emmeline destroye.'

The baron he stroakt his dark-brown cheeke,
And turnde his heade asyde
To whipe awaye the starting teare,
He proudly strave to hyde.

In deepe revolving thought he stoode,
And musde a little space;
Then raisde faire Emmeline from the grounde,
With many a fond embrace.

'Here take her, Child of Elle,' he sayd,
And gave her lillye hand;
'Here take my deare and only child,
And with her half my lande.

'Thy father once mine honour wrongde,
In dayes of youthful pride;
Do thou the injurye repayre
In fondnesse for thy bride.

'And as thou love her and hold her deare,
Heaven prosper thee and thine;
And nowe my blessing wend wi' thee,
My lovelye Emmeline.'

poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Upon My Dear and Loving Husband his Going into England Jan. 16, 1661

O thou Most High who rulest all
And hear'st the prayers of thine,
O hearken, Lord, unto my suit
And my petition sign.

Into Thy everlasting arms Of mercy
I commend Thy servant, Lord.
Keep and preserve My husband,
my dear friend.

At Thy command, O Lord, he went,
Nor nought could keep him back.
Then let Thy promise joy his heart,
O help and be not slack.

Uphold my heart in Thee, O God.
Thou art my strength and stay,
Thou see'st how weak and frail I am,
Hide not Thy face away.

I in obedience to Thy will
Thou knowest did submit.
It was my duty so to do;
O Lord, accept of it.

Unthankfulness for mercies past
Impute Thou not to me.
O Lord, Thou know'st my weak desire
Was to sing praise to Thee.

Lord, be Thou pilot to the ship
And send them prosperous gales.
In storms and sickness, Lord, preserve.
Thy goodness never fails.

Unto Thy work he hath in hand
Lord, grant Thou good success
And favour in their eyes to whom
He shall make his address.

Remember, Lord, Thy folk whom Thou
To wilderness hast brought;
Let not Thine own inheritance
Be sold away for nought.

But tokens of Thy favour give,
With joy send back my dear
That I and all Thy servants may
Rejoice with heavenly cheer.

Lord, let my eyes see once again
Him whom Thou gavest me
That we together may sing praise
Forever unto Thee.

And the remainder of our days
Shall consecrated be
With an engaged heart to sing
All praises unto Thee.

poem by Anne Bradstreet
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Prayer

I ASK good things that I detest,
With speeches fair;
Heed not, I pray Thee, Lord, my breast,
But hear my prayer.

I say ill things I would not say -
Things unaware:
Regard my breast, Lord, in Thy day,
And not my prayer.

My heart is evil in Thy sight:
My good thoughts flee:
O Lord, I cannot wish aright -
Wish Thou for me.

O bend my words and acts to Thee,
However ill,
That I, whate'er I say or be,
May serve Thee still.

O let my thoughts abide in Thee
Lest I should fall:
Show me Thyself in all I see,
Thou Lord of all.

poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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The Lady Turned Serving-Man

You beauteous ladyes, great and small,
I write unto you one and all,
Whereby that you may understand
What I have suffered in the land.

I was by birth a ladye faire,
An ancient barons only heire,
And when my good old father dyed,
Then I became a young knightes bride.

And there my love built me a bower,
Bedeck'd with many a fragrant flower;
A braver bower you ne'er did see
Then my true-love did build for mee.

And there I livde a ladye gay,
Till fortune wrought our loves decay;
For there came foes so fierce a band,
That soon they over-run the land.

They came upon us in the night,
And brent my bower, and slew my knight;
And trembling hid in mans array,
I scant with life escap'd away.

In the midst of this extremitie,
My servants all did from me flee:
Thus was I left myself alone,
With heart more cold than any stone.

Yet though my heart was ful of care,
Heaven would not suffer me to dispaire.
Wherefore in haste I change'd my name
From faire Elise, to sweet Williame;

And therewithall I cut my haire,
Resolv'd my mans attire to weare;
And in my beaver, hose and band,
I travell'd far through many a land.

At length all wearied with my toil,
I sate me downe to rest awhile;
My heart it was so fill'd with woe
That downe my cheeke the teares did flow.

It chanc'd the king of that same place
With all his lords a hunting was,
And seeing me weepe, upon the same,
Askt who I was and whence I came.

Then to his Grace I did replye,
'I am a poore and friendlesse boye,
Though nobly borne, nowe forc'd to bee
A serving-man of lowe degree.'

'Stand up, faire youth,' the king reply'd,
'For thee a service I'll provyde.
But tell me first what thou canst do;
Thou shalt be fitted thereunto.

'Wilt thou be usher of my hall,
To wait upon my nobles all?
Or wilt be taster of my wine,
To 'tend on me when I shall dine?

'Or wilt thou be my chamberlaine,
About my person to remaine?
Or wilt thou be one of my guard,
And I will give thee great reward?

'Chuse, gentle youth,' said he, 'thy place.'
Then I reply'd, 'If it please Your Grace
To shew such favour unto mee,
Your chamberlaine I faine would bee.'

The king then smiling gave consent,
And straitwaye to his court I went;
Where I behavde so faithfullie
That hee great favour showd to mee.

Now marke what fortune did provide:
The king he would a hunting ride
With all his lords and noble traine,
Sweet William must at home remaine.

Thus being left alone behind,
My former state came in my mind;
I wept to see my mans array;
No longer now a ladye gay.

And meeting with a ladyes vest,
Within the same myself I drest;
With silken robes and jewels rare,
I deckt me, as a ladye faire;

And taking up a lute straitwaye,
Upon the same I strove to play;
And sweetly to the same did sing,
As made both hall and chamber ring.

'My father was as brave a lord,
As ever Europe might afford;
My mother was a lady bright;
My husband was a valiant knight;

'And I myself a ladye gay,
Bedeckt with gorgeous rich array;
The happiest lady in the land
Had not more pleasure at command.

'I had my musicke every day
Harmonious lessons for to play;
I had my virgins faire and free
Continually to wait on mee.

'But now, alas! my husband's dead,
And all my friends are from me fled;
My former days are past and gone,
And I am now a serving-man.'

And fetching many a tender sigh,
As thinking no one then was nigh,
In pensive mood I laid me lowe,
My heart was full, the tears did flowe.

The king, who had a huntinge gone,
Grewe weary of his sport anone,
And leaving all his gallant traine,
Turn'd on the sudden home againe;

And when he reach'd his statelye tower,
Hearing one sing within his bower,
He stopt to listen and to see
Who sung there so melodiouslie.

Thus heard he everye word I sed,
And saw the pearlye teares I shed,
And found to his amazement there
Sweet William was a ladye faire.

Then stepping in, 'Faire ladye, rise
And dry,' said he, 'those lovelye eyes,
For I have heard thy mournful tale,
The which shall turne to thy availe.'

A crimson dye my face orespred,
I blusht for shame and hung my head
To find my sex and story knowne,
When as I thought I was alone.

But to be briefe, his Royal Grace
Grewe so enamour'd of my face,
The richest gifts he proffered mee,
His mistress if that I would bee.

'Ah! no, my liege,' I firmlye sayd,
'I'll rather in my grave be layd;
And though Your Grace hath won my heart,
I ne'er will act soe base a part.'

'Faire ladye, pardon me,' sayd hee,
'Thy virtue shall rewarded bee,
And since it is soe fairly tryde
Thou shalt become my royal bride.'

Then strait to end his amorous strife,
He tooke sweet William to his wife.
The like before was never seene:
A serving-man became a queene.

poem by Anonymous Olde English
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King Edward IV. And The Tanner of Tamworth

In summer time, when leaves grow greene,
And blossoms bedecke the tree,
King Edward wolde a hunting ryde,
Some pastime for to see.

With hawke and hounde he made him bowne,
With horne, and eke with bowe;
To Drayon Basset he tooke his waye,
With all his lordes a rowe.

And he had ridden ore dale and downe
By eight of clocke in the day,
When he was ware of a bold tanner,
Come ryding along the waye.

A fayre russet coat the tanner had on,
Fast buttoned under his chin,
And under him a good cow-hide,
And a mare of four shilling.

'Nowe stand you still, my good lordes all,
Under the grene wood spraye;
And I will wend to yonder fellowe,
To weet what he will saye.

'God speede, God speede thee,' said our king,
'Thou art welcome, sir,' sayd hee.
'The readyest waye to Drayton Basset
I praye thee to shewe to mee.'

'To Drayton Basset woldst thou goe,
Fro the place where thou dost stand?
The next payre of gallowes thou comest unto,
Turne in upon thy right hand.'

'That is an unreadye waye,' sayd our king,
'Thou doest but jest I see;
Nowe shewe me out the nearest waye,
And I pray thee wend with mee.'

'Awaye with a vengeance!' quoth the tanner:
'I hold thee out of thy witt:
All day have I rydden on Brocke, my mare,
And I am fasting yett.'

'Go with me downe to Drayton Basset,
No daynties we will spare;
All daye shalt thou eate and drinke of the best,
And I will paye thy fare.'

'Gramercye for nothing,' the tanner replyde,
'Thou payest no fare of mine:
I trowe I've more nobles in my purse,
Than thou hast pence in thine.'

'God give thee joy of them,' sayd the king,
'And send them well to priefe;'
The tanner wolde fame have beene away,
For he weende he had beene a thiefe.

'What art thou,' he sayde, 'thou fine fellowe?
Of thee I am in great feare;
For the cloathes thou wearest upon thy backe
Might beseeme a lord to weare.'

'I never stole them,' quoth our king,
'I tell you, sir, by the roode.'
'Then thou playest, as many an unthrift doth,
And standest in midds of thy goode.'

'What tydinges heare you,' sayd the kynge,
'As you ryde farre and neare?'
'I heare no tydinges, sir, by the masse,
But that cowe-hides are deare.'

'Cowe-hides! cowe-hides! what things are those?
I marvell what they bee?'
'What, art thou a foole?' the tanner reply'd;
'I carry one under mee.'

'What craftsman art thou,' sayd the king;
'I praye thee tell me trowe.'
'I am a barker, sir, by my trade;
Nowe tell me what art thou?'

'I am a poore courtier, sir,' quoth he,
'That am forth of service worne;
And faine I wolde thy prentise bee,
Thy cunninge for the learne.'

'Marrye heaven forfend,' the tanner replyde,
'That thou my prentise were;
Thou woldst spend more good than I shold winne
By fortye shilling a yere.'

'Yet one thinge wold I,' sayd our king,
'If thou wilt not seeme strange;
Thoughe my horse be better than thy mare,
Yet with thee I faine wold change.'

'Why if with me thou faine wilt change,
As change full well maye wee,
By the faith of my bodye, thou proude fellowe,
I will have some boot of thee.'

'That were against reason,' sayd the king,
'I sweare, so mote I thee;
My horse is better than thy mare,
And that thou well mayst see.'

'Yea, sir, but Brocke is gentle and mild,
And softly she will fare;
Thy horse is unrulye and wild, I wiss,
Aye skipping here and theare.'

'What boote wilt thou have?' our king reply'd;
'Now tell me in this stound.'
'Noe pence, nor half pence, by my faye,
But a noble in gold so round.'

'Here's twentye groates of white moneye,
Sith thou will have it mee.'
'I would have sworne now,' quoth the tanner,
'Thou hadst not had one pennie.

'But since we too have made a change,
A change we must abide;
Although thou hast gotten Brocke, my mare,
Thou gettest not my cowe-hide.'

'I will not have it,' sayd the kynge,
'I sweare, so mought I thee;
Thy foule cowe-hide I wolde not beare,
If thou woldst give it to mee.'

The tanner hee tooke his good cowe-hide,
That of the cow was hilt,
And threwe it upon the king's sadelle,
That was soe fayrelye gilte.

'Now help me up, thou fine fellowe,
'Tis time that I were gone:
When I come home to Gyllian, my wife,
Sheel say I am gentilmon.'

The king he tooke him up by the legge
The tanner a f** lett fall;
'Nowe marrye, goode fellowe,' sayd the kyng,
'Thy courtesye is but small.'

When the tanner he was in the kinges sadelle,
And his foote in the stirrup was,
He marvelled greatlye in his minde,
Whether it were golde or brass.

But when his steede saw the cows toile wagge,
And eke the blacke cowe-horne,
He stamped, and stared, and awaye he ranne,
As the devill had him borne.

The tanner he pulld, the tanner he sweat,
And held by the pummil fast;
At length the tanner came tumbling downe,
His necke he had well-nye brast.

'Take thy horse again with a vengeance,' he sayd,
'With mee he shall not byde.'
'My horse wolde have borne thee well enoughe,
But he knewe not of thy cowe-hide.

'Yet if againe thou faine woldst change,
As change full well may wee,
By the faith of my bodye, thou jolly tanner,
I will have some boote of thee.'

'What boote wilt thou have,' the tanner replyd,
'Nowe tell me in this stounde?'
'No pence nor half-pence, sir, by my faye,
But I will have twentye pound.'

'Here's twentye groates out of my purse,
And twentye I have of thine;
And I have one more, which we will spend
Together at the wine.'

The king set a bugle-horne to his mouthe,
And blewe both loude and shrille;
And soone came lords, and soone came knights,
Fast ryding over the hille.

'Nowe, out alas!' the tanner he cryde,
'That ever I sawe this daye!
Thou art a strong thiefe; yon come thy fellowes
Will beare my cowe-hide away.'

'They are no thieves,' the king replyde,
'I sweare, soe mote I thee;
But they are the lords of the north countrey,
Here come to hunt with mee.'

And soone before our king they came,
And knelt downe on the grounde;
Then might the tanner have beene awaye,
He had lever than twentye pounde.

'A coller, a coller, here,' sayd the king,
'A coller,' he loud gan crye;
Then woulde he lever then twentye pound,
He had not beene so nighe.

'A coller, a coller!' the tanner he sayd,
'I trowe it will breed sorrowe;
After a coller commeth a halter;
I trowe I shall be hang'd to-morrowe.'

'Be not afraid, tanner,' said our king;
'I tell thee, so mought I thee,
Lo here I make thee the best esquire
That is in the north countrie.'

'For Plumpton-Parke I will give thee,
With tenements faire beside,-
'Tis worth three hundred markes by the yeare,-
To maintaine thy good cowe-hide.'

'Gramercye, my liege,' the tanner replyde;
'For the favour thou hast me showne,
If ever thou comest to merry Tamworth,
Neates leather shall clout thy shoen.'

poem by Anonymous Olde English
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sweet empty sky of June without a stain,

O Lord, the hope of Israel, all they that forsake
Thee shall be ashamed ; and they that depart from
Thee, shall be written in the earth, because they have
forsaken the Lord, the fountain of living waters.
Heal me, O Lord, and I shall be healed ; save me,
and I shall be saved, for Thou art my health, and my
great deliverer.
I said in the cutting off of my days, I shall go to
the gates of the grave ; I have deprived myself of the
residue of my years.
I said, I shall not see the Lord, even the Lord in the
land of the living : I shall behold man no more with
the inhabitants of the world.
O Lord ! by Thee doth man live, and from Thee is
the life of my spirit : therefore wilt Thou recover me,
and make me to live.
Thou hast in love to my soul delivered it from the
pit of corruption ; for Thou hast cast all my sins
behind Thy back.
For Thy name's sake hast Thou put off thine anger ;
for Thy praise hast Thou refrained from me, that I
should not be cut off.
For the grave cannot praise Thee, death cannot
celebrate Thee : they that go down into the pit, cannot
hope for Thy truth.
The living, the living, he shall praise Thee, as I do
this day : the father to the children shall make known
Thy truth.
O Lord ! Thou hast been merciful, Thou hast
brought back my life from corruption : Thou hast
redeemed me from my sin.
They that follow after lying vanities, forsake their
own mercy.
Therefore shall Thy songs be with me, and my
prayer unto the God of my life.
I will go unto the altar of my God, unto God, the
joy of my youth ; and in Thy fear will I worship
towards Thy holy temple.
I will sacrifice unto Thee with the voice of thanks-
giving ; I will pay that which I have vowed ; sal-
vation is of the Lord.

poem by Henry Vaughan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dost Thou Not Care?

I love and love not: Lord, it breaks my heart
To love and not to love.
Thou veiled within Thy glory, gone apart
Into Thy shrine, which is above,
Dost Thou not love me, Lord, or care
For this mine ill?—
I love thee here or there,
I will accept thy broken heart, lie still.

Lord, it was well with me in time gone by
That cometh not again,
When I was fresh and cheerful, who but I?
I fresh, I cheerful: worn with pain
Now, out of sight and out of heart;
O Lord, how long?—
I watch thee as thou art,
I will accept thy fainting heart, be strong.

'Lie still,' 'be strong,' to-day; but, Lord, to-morrow,
What of to-morrow, Lord?
Shall there be rest from toil, be truce from sorrow,
Be living green upon the sward
Now but a barren grave to me,
Be joy for sorrow?—
Did I not die for thee?
Did I not live for thee? Leave Me to-morrow.

poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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