Chapter 4

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE TIDINGS

The newes was brought to Eddenborrow, Where Scotland's king did raigne, That brave Erle Douglas suddenlye Was with an arrow slaine:

'O heavy newes,' King James did say, 'Scotland may witnesse be, I have not any captaine more Of such account as he.'

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 no better be; I trust I have, within my realme, Five hundred as good as he:

Yet shall not Scots nor Scotland say, But I will vengeance take: I'll be revengËd on them all, For brave Erle Percy's sake.'

This vow full well the king performed After, at Humbledowne; In one day, fifty knights were slayne, With lords of great renowne,

And of the rest, of small account, Did many thousands dye. Thus endeth the hunting of Chevy-Chace, Made by the Erle Percye.

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

XXVI

SIR PATRICK SPENS

The King sits in Dunfermline town, Drinking the blude-red wine: 'O whaur will I get a skeely skipper To sail this new ship o' mine?'

O up and spake an eldern knight, Sat at the King's right knee: 'Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor That ever sailed the sea.'

Our King has written a braid letter And sealed it wi' his hand, And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens, Was walking on the strand.

'To Noroway, to Noroway, To Noroway o'er the faem; The King's daughter to Noroway, 'Tis thou maun bring her hame.'

The first word that Sir Patrick read, Sae loud, loud lauchËd he; The neist word that Sir Patrick read, The tear blinded his ee.

'O wha is this has done this deed, And tauld the King of me, To send us out at this time o' year To sail upon the sea?

Be it wind, be it weet, be it hail, be it sleet, Our ship must sail the faem; The King's daughter to Noroway, 'Tis we must bring her hame.'

They hoysed their sails on Monday morn Wi' a' the speed they may; They hae landed in Noroway Upon a Wodensday.

They hadna been a week, a week, In Noroway but twae, When that the lords o' Noroway Began aloud to say:

'Ye Scottishmen spend a' our King's goud And a' our Queenis fee.' 'Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud, Fu' loud I hear ye lie!

For I brought as mickle white monie As gane my men and me, And I brought a half-fou o' gude red goud Out-o'er the sea wi' me.

Mak' ready, mak' ready, my merry men a'! Our gude ship sails the morn.' 'Now, ever alake, my master dear, I fear a deadly storm.

I saw the new moon late yestreen Wi' the auld moon in her arm; And, if we gang to sea, master, I fear we'll come to harm.'

They hadna sailed a league, a league, A league but barely three, When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew loud, And gurly grew the sea.

'O where will I get a gude sailor To tak' my helm in hand, Till I gae up to the tall topmast To see if I can spy land?'

'O here am I, a sailor gude, To tak' the helm in hand, Till you gae up to the tall topmast; But I fear you'll ne'er spy land.'

He hadna gane a step, a step, A step but barely ane, When a bolt flew out o' our goodly ship, And the salt sea it came in.

'Gae fetch a web o' the silken claith, Anither o' the twine, And wap them into our ship's side, And letna the sea come in.'

They fetched a web o' the silken claith, Anither o' the twine, And they wapped them round that gude ship's side, But still the sea cam' in.

O laith, laith were our gude Scots lords To weet their milk-white hands; But lang ere a' the play was ower They wat their gowden bands.

O laith, laith were our gude Scots lords To weet their cork-heeled shoon; But lang ere a' the play was played They wat their hats aboon.

O lang, lang may the ladies sit Wi' their fans intill their hand, Before they see Sir Patrick Spens Come sailing to the strand!

And lang, lang may the maidens sit Wi' their goud kaims in their hair, A' waiting for their ain dear loves! For them they'll see nae mair.

Half ower, half ower to Aberdour, It's fifty fathoms deep, And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens Wi' the Scots lords at his feet.

XXVII

BRAVE LORD WILLOUGHBY

The fifteenth day of July, With glistering spear and shield, A famous fight in Flanders Was foughten in the field: The most conspicuous officers Were English captains three, But the bravest man in battel Was brave Lord Willoughby.

The next was Captain Norris, A valiant man was he: The other, Captain Turner, From field would never flee. With fifteen hundred fighting men, Alas! there were no more, They fought with forty thousand then Upon the bloody shore.

'Stand to it, noble pikeman, And look you round about: And shoot you right, you bow-men, And we will keep them out: You musquet and cailiver men, Do you prove true to me, I'll be the bravest man in fight,' Says brave Lord Willoughby.

And then the bloody enemy They fiercely did assail, And fought it out most furiously, Not doubting to prevail: The wounded men on both sides fell Most piteous for to see, But nothing could the courage quell Of brave Lord Willoughby.

For seven hours to all men's view This fight endurËd sore, Until our men so feeble grew That they could fight no more; And then upon dead horses Full savourly they eat, And drank the puddle water, That could no better get.

When they had fed so freely, They kneelËd on the ground, And praisËd God devoutly For the favour they had found; And bearing up their colours, The fight they did renew, And cutting tow'rds the Spaniard, Five thousand more they slew.

The sharp steel-pointed arrows And bullets thick did fly; Then did our valiant soldiers Charge on most furiously: Which made the Spaniards waver, They thought it best to flee: They feared the stout behaviour Of brave Lord Willoughby.

Then quoth the Spanish general, 'Come, let us march away, I fear we shall be spoilËd all If that we longer stay: For yonder comes Lord Willoughby With courage fierce and fell, He will not give one inch of ground For all the devils in hell.'

And when the fearful enemy Was quickly put to flight, Our men pursued courageously To rout his forces quite; And at last they gave a shout Which echoed through the sky: 'God, and St. George for England!' The conquerors did cry.

This news was brought to England With all the speed might be, And soon our gracious Queen was told Of this same victory. 'O! this is brave Lord Willoughby, My love that ever won: Of all the lords of honour 'Tis he great deeds hath done!'

To the soldiers that were maimËd, And wounded in the fray, The queen allowed a pension Of fifteen pence a day, And from all costs and charges She quit and set them free: And this she did all for the sake Of brave Lord Willoughby.

Then courage, noble Englishmen, And never be dismayed! If that we be but one to ten, We will not be afraid To fight with foreign enemies, And set our country free. And thus I end the bloody bout Of brave Lord Willoughby.

XXVIII

HUGHIE THE GR∆ME

Good Lord Scroope to the hills is gane, Hunting of the fallow deer; And he has grippit Hughie the GrÊme For stealing of the Bishop's mare.

'Now, good Lord Scroope, this may not be! Here hangs a broadsword by my side; And if that thou canst conquer me, The matter it may soon be tried.'

'I ne'er was afraid of a traitor thief; Although thy name be Hughie the GrÊme, I'll make thee repent thee of thy deeds, If God but grant me life and time.'

But as they were dealing their blows so free, And both so bloody at the time, Over the moss came ten yeomen so tall, All for to take bold Hughie the GrÊme.

O then they grippit Hughie the GrÊme, And brought him up through Carlisle town: The lads and lasses stood on the walls, Crying, 'Hughie the GrÊme, thou'se ne'er gae down!'

'O loose my right hand free,' he says, 'And gie me my sword o' the metal sae fine, He's no in Carlisle town this day Daur tell the tale to Hughie the GrÊme.'

Up then and spake the brave Whitefoord, As he sat by the Bishop's knee, 'Twenty white owsen, my gude lord, If ye'll grant Hughie the GrÊme to me.'

'O haud your tongue,' the Bishop says, 'And wi' your pleading let me be; For tho' ten Grahams were in his coat, They suld be hangit a' for me.'

Up then and spake the fair Whitefoord, As she sat by the Bishop's knee, 'A peck o' white pennies, my good lord, If ye'll grant Hughie the GrÊme to me.'

'O haud your tongue now, lady fair, Forsooth, and so it sall na be; Were he but the one Graham of the name, He suld be hangit high for me.'

They've ta'en him to the gallows knowe, He lookËd to the gallows tree, Yet never colour left his cheek, Nor ever did he blink his e'e.

He lookËd over his left shoulder To try whatever he could see, And he was aware of his auld father, Tearing his hair most piteouslie.

'O haud your tongue, my father dear, And see that ye dinna weep for me! For they may ravish me o' my life, But they canna banish me fro' Heaven hie.

And ye may gie my brither John My sword that's bent in the middle clear, And let him come at twelve o'clock, And see me pay the Bishop's mare.

And ye may gie my brither James My sword that's bent in the middle brown, And bid him come at four o'clock, And see his brither Hugh cut down.

And ye may tell my kith and kin I never did disgrace their blood; And when they meet the Bishop's cloak, To mak' it shorter by the hood.'

XXIX

KINMONT WILLIE

THE CAPTURE

O have ye na heard o' the fause Sakelde? O have ye na heard o' the keen Lord Scroope? How they hae ta'en bold Kinmont Willie, On Haribee to hang him up?

Had Willie had but twenty men, But twenty men as stout as he, Fause Sakelde had never the Kinmont ta'en, Wi' eight score in his cumpanie.

They band his legs beneath the steed, They tied his hands behind his back; They guarded him fivesome on each side, And they brought him ower the Liddel-rack.

They led him thro' the Liddel-rack, And also thro' the Carlisle sands; They brought him on to Carlisle castle To be at my Lord Scroope's commands.

'My hands are tied, but my tongue is free, And wha will dare this deed avow? Or answer by the Border law? Or answer to the bold Buccleuch?'

'Now haud thy tongue, thou rank reiver! There's never a Scot shall set thee free: Before ye cross my castle yett, I trow ye shall take farewell o' me.'

'Fear na ye that, my lord,' quo' Willie: 'By the faith o' my body, Lord Scroope,' he said, 'I never yet lodged in a hostelrie But I paid my lawing before I gaed.'

THE KEEPER'S WRATH

Now word is gane to the bold Keeper, In Branksome Ha' where that he lay, That Lord Scroope has ta'en the Kinmont Willie, Between the hours of night and day.

He has ta'en the table wi' his hand, He garred the red wine spring on hie: 'Now a curse upon my head,' he said, 'But avengËd of Lord Scroope I'll be!

O is my basnet a widow's curch? Or my lance a wand of the willow-tree? Or my arm a lady's lily hand, That an English lord should lightly me!

And have they ta'en him, Kinmont Willie, Against the truce of Border tide? And forgotten that the bold Buccleuch Is keeper here on the Scottish side?

And have they e'en ta'en him, Kinmont Willie, Withouten either dread or fear? And forgotten that the bold Buccleuch Can back a steed or shake a spear?

O were there war between the lands, As well I wot that there is none, I would slight Carlisle castle high, Though it were builded of marble stone.

I would set that castle in a lowe, And slocken it with English blood! There's never a man in Cumberland Should ken where Carlisle castle stood.

But since nae war's between the lands, And there is peace, and peace should be, I'll neither harm English lad or lass, And yet the Kinmont freed shall be!'

THE MARCH

He has called him forty Marchmen bold, I trow they were of his ain name, Except Sir Gilbert Elliot, called The Laird of Stobs, I mean the same.

He has called him forty Marchmen bold, Were kinsmen to the bold Buccleuch; With spur on heel, and splent on spauld, And gluves of green, and feathers blue.

There were five and five before them a', Wi' hunting-horns and bugles bright: And five and five cam' wi' Buccleuch, Like warden's men, arrayed for fight.

And five and five like a mason gang That carried the ladders lang and hie; And five and five like broken men; And so they reached the Woodhouselee.

And as we crossed the 'Bateable Land, When to the English side we held, The first o' men that we met wi', Whae suld it be but fause Sakelde?

'Where be ye gaun, ye hunters keen?' Quo' fause Sakelde; 'come tell to me!' 'We go to hunt an English stag Has trespassed on the Scots countrie.'

'Where be ye gaun, ye marshal men?' Quo' fause Sakelde; 'come tell me true!' 'We go to catch a rank reiver Has broken faith wi' the bold Buccleuch.'

'Where are ye gaun, ye mason lads, Wi' a' your ladders lang and hie?' 'We gang to herry a corbie's nest That wons not far frae Woodhouselee.'

'Where be ye gaun, ye broken men?' Quo' fause Sakelde; 'come tell to me!' Now Dickie of Dryhope led that band, And the never a word of lear had he.

'Why trespass ye on the English side? Row-footed outlaws, stand!' quo' he; The never a word had Dickie to say, Sae he thrust the lance through his fause bodie.

Then on we held for Carlisle toun, And at Staneshaw-Bank the Eden we crossed; The water was great and meikle of spait, But the never a horse nor man we lost.

And when we reached the Staneshaw-Bank, The wind was rising loud and hie; And there the Laird garred leave our steeds, For fear that they should stamp and neigh.

And when we left the Staneshaw-Bank, The wind began full loud to blaw; But 'twas wind and weet, and fire and sleet, When we came beneath the castle wa'.

We crept on knees, and held our breath, Till we placed the ladders against the wa'; And sae ready was Buccleuch himsell To mount the first before us a'.

He has ta'en the watchman by the throat, He flung him down upon the lead: 'Had there not been peace between our lands, Upon the other side thou'dst gaed!

Now sound out, trumpets!' quo' Buccleuch; 'Let's waken Lord Scroope right merrilie!' Then loud the warden's trumpet blew _O wha dare meddle wi' me?_

THE RESCUE

Then speedilie to wark we gaed, And raised the slogan ane and a', And cut a hole through a sheet of lead, And so we wan to the castle ha'.

They thought King James and a' his men Had won the house wi' bow and spear; It was but twenty Scots and ten That put a thousand in sic a stear!

Wi' coulters and wi' forehammers We garred the bars bang merrilie, Until we came to the inner prison, Where Willie o' Kinmont he did lie.

And when we cam' to the lower prison, Where Willie o' Kinmont he did lie: 'O sleep ye, wake ye, Kinmont Willie, Upon the morn that thou's to die?'

'O I sleep saft, and I wake aft; It's lang since sleeping was fleyed frae me! Gie my service back to my wife and bairns, And a' gude fellows that spier for me.'

Then Red Rowan has hente him up, The starkest man in Teviotdale: 'Abide, abide now, Red Rowan, Till of my Lord Scroope I take farewell.

Farewell, farewell, my gude Lord Scroope! My gude Lord Scroope, farewell!' he cried; 'I'll pay you for my lodging maill, When first we meet on the Border side.'

Then shoulder high with shout and cry We bore him down the ladder lang; At every stride Red Rowan made, I wot the Kinmont's airns played clang.

'O mony a time,' quo' Kinmont Willie, 'I have ridden horse baith wild and wood; But a rougher beast than Red Rowan I ween my legs have ne'er bestrode.

And mony a time,' quo' Kinmont Willie, 'I've pricked a horse out oure the furs; But since the day I backed a steed, I never wore sic cumbrous spurs!'

We scarce had won the Staneshaw-Bank When a' the Carlisle bells were rung, And a thousand men on horse and foot Cam' wi' the keen Lord Scroope along.

Buccleuch has turned to Eden Water, Even where it flowed frae bank to brim, And he has plunged in wi' a' his band, And safely swam them through the stream.

He turned him on the other side, And at Lord Scroope his glove flung he: 'If ye like na my visit in merrie England, In fair Scotland come visit me!'

All sore astonished stood Lord Scroope, He stood as still as rock of stane; He scarcely dared to trew his eyes, When through the water they had gane.

'He is either himsell a devil frae hell, Or else his mother a witch maun be; I wadna have ridden that wan water For a' the gowd in Christentie.'

XXX

THE HONOUR OF BRISTOL

Attend you, and give ear awhile, And you shall understand Of a battle fought upon the seas By a ship of brave command. The fight it was so glorious Men's hearts it did ful-fill, And it made them cry, 'To sea, to sea, With the Angel Gabriel!'

This lusty ship of Bristol Sailed out adventurously Against the foes of England, Her strength with them to try; Well victualled, rigged, and manned she was, With good provision still, Which made men cry, 'To sea, to sea, With the Angel Gabriel!'

The Captain, famous Netherway (That was his noble name): The Master--he was called John Mines-- A mariner of fame: The Gunner, Thomas Watson, A man of perfect skill: With many another valiant heart In the Angel Gabriel.

They waving up and down the seas Upon the ocean main, 'It is not long ago,' quoth they, 'That England fought with Spain: O would the Spaniard we might meet Our stomachs to fulfil! We would play him fair a noble bout With our Angel Gabriel!'

They had no sooner spoken But straight appeared in sight Three lusty Spanish vessels Of warlike trim and might; With bloody resolution They thought our men to spill, And they vowed that they would make a prize Of our Angel Gabriel.

Our gallant ship had in her Full forty fighting men: With twenty piece of ordnance We played about them then, With powder, shot, and bullets Right well we worked our will, And hot and bloody grew the fight With our Angel Gabriel.

Our Captain to our Master said, 'Take courage, Master bold!' Our Master to the seamen said, 'Stand fast, my hearts of gold!' Our Gunner unto all the rest, 'Brave hearts, be valiant still! Fight on, fight on in the defence Of our Angel Gabriel!'

We gave them such a broadside, It smote their mast asunder, And tore the bowsprit off their ship, Which made the Spaniards wonder, And causËd them in fear to cry, With voices loud and shrill, 'Help, help, or sunken we shall be By the Angel Gabriel!'

So desperately they boarded us For all our valiant shot, Threescore of their best fighting men Upon our decks were got; And lo! at their first entrances Full thirty did we kill, And thus we cleared with speed the deck Of our Angel Gabriel.

With that their three ships boarded us Again with might and main, But still our noble Englishmen Cried out, 'A fig for Spain!' Though seven times they boarded us At last we showed our skill, And made them feel what men we were On the Angel Gabriel.

Seven hours this fight continued: So many men lay dead, With Spanish blood for fathoms round The sea was coloured red. Five hundred of their fighting men We there outright did kill, And many more were hurt and maimed By our Angel Gabriel.

Then, seeing of these bloody spoils, The rest made haste away: For why, they said, it was no boot The longer there to stay. Then they fled into CalËs, Where lie they must and will For fear lest they should meet again With our Angel Gabriel.

We had within our English ship But only three men slain, And five men hurt, the which I hope Will soon be well again. At Bristol we were landed, And let us praise God still, That thus hath blest our lusty hearts And our Angel Gabriel.

XXXI

HELEN OF KIRKCONNELL

I wish I were where Helen lies, Night and day on me she cries; O that I were where Helen lies, On fair Kirkconnell lea!

Curst be the heart that thought the thought, And curst the hand that fired the shot, When in my arms burd Helen dropt, And died to succour me!

O thinkna ye my heart was sair When my love dropt down, and spak' nae mair? There did she swoon wi' meikle care, On fair Kirkconnell lea.

As I went down the water side, None but my foe to be my guide, None but my foe to be my guide On fair Kirkconnell lea;

I lighted down my sword to draw, I hackËd him in pieces sma', I hackËd him in pieces sma' For her sake that died for me.

O Helen fair beyond compare! I'll mak' a garland o' thy hair, Shall bind my heart for evermair, Until the day I dee!

O that I were where Helen lies! Night and day on me she cries; Out of my bed she bids me rise, Says, 'Haste, and come to me!'

O Helen fair! O Helen chaste! If I were with thee I were blest, Where thou lies low and takes thy rest, On fair Kirkconnell lea.

I wish my grave were growing green, A winding-sheet drawn ower my e'en, And I in Helen's arms lying On fair Kirkconnell lea.

I wish I were where Helen lies! Night and day on me she cries, And I am weary of the skies For her sake that died for me.

XXXII

THE TWA CORBIES

As I was walking all alane, I heard twa corbies making a mane: The tane unto the tither say, 'Where sall we gang and dine the day?'

'In behint yon auld fail dyke I wot there lies a new-slain knight; And naebody kens that he lies there But his hawk, his hound, and his lady fair.

His hound is to the hunting gane, His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame, His lady's ta'en another mate, Sae we may mak' our dinner sweet.

Ye'll sit on his white hause-bane, And I'll pike out his bonny blue e'en: Wi' ae lock o' his gowden hair We'll theek our nest when it grows bare.