Francis James Child

“ Thus Syr Hary Perssye toke the fylde,
For soth as I yow saye;
Jhesu Cryste in hevyn on hyght
Dyd helpe hym well that daye.
But nyne thowzand, ther was no moo,
The cronykle wyll not layne;
Forty thowsande of Skottes and fowre
That day fowght them agayne.
But when the batell byganne to ioyne,
In hast ther cam a knyght;
The letters fayre furth hath he tayne,
And thus he sayd full ryght:
'My lorde your father he gretes yow well,
Wyth many a noble knyght;
He desyres yow to byde
That he may see thys fyght. ”

“ Owr Ynglyssh men they cryde on hyght,
And thrysse the schowtte agayne.
Wyth that scharpe arowes bygan to flee,
I tell yow in sertayne;
Men of armes byganne to joyne,
Many a dowghty man was ther slayne. ”

“ And boldely brente Northomberlond,
And haryed many a towyn;
They dyd owr Ynglyssh men grete wrange,
To batell that were not bowyn.
Than spake a berne vpon the bent,
Of comforte that was not colde,
And sayd, We haue brente Northomberlond,
We haue all welth in holde.
Now we haue haryed all Bamborowe schyre,
All the welth in the worlde haue wee,
I rede we ryde to Newe Castell,
So styll and stalworthlye.
Vpon the morowe, when it was day,
The standerds schone full bryght ”

“ Sayd Syr Harry Perssye.
'Ther schall I byde the,' sayd the Dowglas,
'By the fayth of my bodye:'
'Thether schall I com,' sayd Syr Harry Perssy,
'My trowth I plyght to the.'
A pype of wyne he gaue them over the walles,
For soth as I yow saye;
Ther he mayd the Dowglasse drynke,
And all hys ost that daye.
The Dowglas turnyd hym homewarde agayne,
For soth withowghten naye;
He toke hys logeyng at Oterborne,
Vpon a Wedynsday.
And ther he pyght hys standerd dowyn,
Hys getting more and lesse,
And syne he warned hys men to goo
To chose ther geldynges gresse. ”

“ And the batell fayne wolde they see.'
'For Jhesus love,' sayd Syr Harye Perssy,
'That dyed for yow and me,
Wende to my lorde my father agayne,
And saye thow sawe me not wyth yee.
'My trowth ys plyght to yonne Skottysh knyght,
It nedes me not to layne,
That I schulde byde hym vpon thys bent,
And I haue hys trowth agayne.
'And if that I w [e] ynde of thys growende,
For soth, onfowghten awaye,
He wolde me call but a kowarde knyght
In hys londe another daye. ”

“ A coming branking us upon.
Wi nine waggons scaling wide,
And seven banners bearing high;
It was do any living gude
To see their bonny colours fly.
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'O YIELD thee to yon braken-bush,
That grows upon yon lilly lie ”