The wear borne a-long be the watter a Twyde,

Yth bowndes of Tividale.

50

Leave off the brytlyng of the dear, he sayde,

And to your bowys tayk good heed;

For never sithe ye wear on your mothars borne
Had ye never so mickle need.

The dougheti Dogglas on a stede

P.C.

He rode att his men beforne;

His armor glytteryde as dyd a glede;

A bolder barne was never born.

Tell me what' men ye ar, 6

he says,

Or whos men that ye be:
Who gave youe leave to hunte in this
Chyviat chays in the spyt of me?

The first mane that ever him an answear mayd,
Yt was the good lord Persè :

55

60

We wyll not tell the 'what' men we ar, he says, 65

Nor whos men that we be;

But we wyll hount hear in this chays

In the spyte of thyne, and of the.

The fattiste hartes in all Chyviat

We have kyld, and cast to carry them a-way. Be my troth, sayd the doughtè Dogglas agayn, Ther-for the ton of us shall de this day.

70

V. 52, boys look ye tayk. P.C. V. 54, ned. P.C. V. 59, whos. V. 65, whoys. P.C. V. 71, agay. P.C.

Then sayd the doughtè Doglas

Unto the lord Persè :

To kyll all thes giltles men,
A-las! it wear great pittè.

But, Persè, thowe art a lord of lande,
I am a yerle callyd within my contre;
Let all our men uppone a parti stande;

And do the battell off the and of me.

cr

80

Nowe Cristes cors on his crowne, sayd the lord Persè, Who-soever ther-to says nay.

Be my troth, doughtè Doglas, he says,

Thow shalt never se that day;

Nethar in Ynglonde, Skottlonde, nar France,

Nor for no man of a woman born,

But and fortune be my chance,

I dar met him on man for on.

85

Then bespayke a squyar off Northombarlonde,

Ric. Wytharynton* was his nam;

It shall never be told in Sothe-Ynglonde, he says, To kyng Herry the fourth for sham.

V. 81, sayd the the. P.C. V. 88, on i. e. one.

90

* This is probably corrupted in the MS. for Rog. Widdrington, who was at the head of the family in the reign of K. Edw. III. There were several successively of the names of Roger and Ralph, but none of the name of Richard, as appears from the genealogies in the Herald's office.

I wat youe byn great lordes twa,
I am a poor squyar of lande;

I wyll never se my captayne fyght on a fylde, 95
And stande my-selffe, and looke on,
But whyll I may my weppone welde

I wyll not 'fayl' both harte and hande.

That day, that day, that dredfull day :
The first FIT here I fynde.

And you wyll here any mor athe hountyng

athe Chyviat,

Yet ys ther mor behynde.

100

THE SECOND FIT.

THE Yngglishe men hade ther bowys yebent,
Ther hartes were good yenoughe;

The first of arros that the shote off,

Seven skore spear-men the sloughe.

Yet bydys the yerle Doglas uppon the bent,

A captayne good yenoughe,

And that was sene verament,

For he wrought hom both woo and wouche.

The Dogglas pertyd his ost in thre,

Lyk a cheffe cheften off pryde,

V. 93, twaw. PC.

V. 3, first, i. e. flight.

**

V. 101, youe.
V. 5, byddys. PC.
FIT, vide Gloss.

5

10

hountyng. PC.

With suar speares off myghttè tre
The cum in on every syde.

Thrughe our Yngglishe archery
Gave many a wounde full wyde;
Many a doughete the garde to dy,
Which ganyde them no pryde.

15

The Yngglyshe men let thear bowys be,
And pulde owt brandes that wer bright;
It was a hevy syght to se

Bryght swordes on basnites lyght.

Thorowe ryche male, and myne-ye-ple

Many sterne the stroke downe streght:

Many a freyke, that was full free,

Ther undar foot dyd lyght.

At last the Duglas and the Persè met,

20

25

Lyk to captayns of myght and mayne;

The swapte togethar tyll the both swat

With swordes, that wear of fyn myllàn.

Thes worthè freckys for to fyght

Ther-to the wear full fayne,

Tyll the bloode owte off thear basnetes sprente,

As ever dyd heal or rayne.

V. 17, boys. PC.
V. 22, done. PC.
V. 32, ran. PC.

30

V. 18, briggt. PC.

V. 21, throrowe. PC.

V. 26, to, i.e. two.

Ibid. and of, PC.

Holde the, Persè, sayd the Doglas,
And i' feth I shall the brynge

Wher thowe shalte have a yerls wagis
Of Jamy our Scottish kynge.

Thoue shalte have thy ransom fre,
I hight the hear this thinge,

For the manfullyste man yet art thowe,
That ever I conqueryd in filde fightyng.

Thoroue lyvar and longs bathe

The sharp arrowe ys gane,

That never after in all his lyffe days

He spayke mo wordes but ane,

50

[may,

That was,† Fyghte ye, my merry men, whyllys ye

For my lyff days ben gan.

V. 33, helde. PC.

V. 49, throroue. PC.

* Wane, i. e. ane. one, sc. man; an arrow came from a mighty

one from a mighty man.

This seems to have been a gloss added.