A Fytte
The Perssye came byfore hys oste,
Whych was ever a gentyll knyght,
Upon the Dowglasse lowde can he crye,
I wyll holde that I have hyght:
For thou haste brente Northomberlonde,
And done me grete envye;
For thys trespasse thow haste me done,
The tone of us schall dye.
The Dowglasse answerde him agayne,
With grete wurdes upon hye,
And sayd, I have twenty agaynst ‘thy’ one.
Byholde and thow maste see.
Wyth that the Perssye was grevyd sore,
For soth, as I yow saye:
He lyghted dowyn upon hys foote,
And schoote his horsse clene away.
Every man sawe that he dyd soo,
That rall was ever in rowght;
Every man schoote hys horsse hym froo,
And lyght hym rowynde abowght.
This syr Harye Perssye toke the fylde,
For soth, as I yow saye:
Jesu Cryste in heven on hyght
Dyd helpe hym well that daye.
But nyne thowsande, ther was no moo;
The cronykle wyll not layne:
Forty thowsande Skottes and fowre
That day fowght them agayne.
But when the battell byganne to joyne,
In hast ther cam a knyght,
The letters fayr 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.
The baron of Grastoke ys com owt of the west,
Wyth hym a noble companye;
All they loge at your fathers thys nyght,
And the battell fayne wolde they see.
For Jesus love, sayd syr Harye Perssye,
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,
Yt nedes me not to layne,
That I schulde byde hym upon thys bent,
And I have hys trowth agayne:
And yf that I wynde off thys growende,
For soth onfowghten awaye,
He wolde me call but a kowarde knyght
Yn hys londe another daye.
Yet had I lever to be rynde and rente,
By Mary that mykell maye,
Then ever my manhood schulde be reprovyd,
Wyth a Skotte another daye.
Wherfore, schote, archars, for my sake,
And let scharpe arowes flee:
Mynstrells, playe up for your waryson,
And well quyt yt schall be.
Every man thynke on hys trewe love,
And marke hym to the Trenite:
For to God I make myne avowe
This daye wyll I not fle.
The blodye harte yn the Dowglas armes,39
Hys standerde stode on hye;
That every man myght full well knowe,
By syde stode starres thre.
The whyte lyon on the Ynglyssh perte,
Forsoth as I yow sayne;
The lucettes and the ‘cressawntes’ both;
The Skottes fowght them agayne.
Upon sent Andrewe lowde can they crye,
And thrysse they schowte on ayght,
And syne marked them one owr Ynglysshe men,
As I have tolde yow ryght.
Sent George the bryght, owr ladyes knyght,
To name they were full fayne;
Owr Ynglisshe 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.
The Perssye and the Dowglas mette,
That ather of other was fayne;
They ‘swapped’ together whyll that the swette,
Wyth swordes of fine collayne;
Tyll the bloode from ther bassonettes ranne,
As the roke doth in the rayne.
Yelde the to me, sayd the Dowglas,
Or ellse thow schalt be slayne:
For I see, by thy bryght bassonet,
Thow arte sum man of myght;
And so I do by thy burnysshed brande,
Thow art an yerle, or elles a knyght.
By my good faythe, sayd the noble Perssye,
Now haste thou rede full ryght,
Yet wyll I never yelde me to the,
Whyll I may stonde and fyght.
They swapped together, whyll that they swette,
Wyth swordes scharpe and long;
Ych on other so faste thee beette,
Tyll ther helmes cam in peyses dowyn.
The Perssye was a man of strength,
I tell yow in thys stounde,
He smote the Dowglas at the swordes length,
That he felle to the growynde.
The sworde was scharpe and sore can byte,
I tell yow in sertayne;
To the harte he cowde him smyte,
Thus was the Dowglas slayne.
The stonderdes stode styll on ‘elke’ asyde,
Wyth many a grevous grone;
Ther the fowght the daye, and all the nyght,
And many a dowghty man was slayne.
Ther was no freke that ther wolde flye,
But styffely in stowre can stond,
Ych one hewyng on other whyll they myght drye,
Wyth many a bayllefull bronde.
Ther was slayne upon the Skottes syde,
For soth and sertenly,
Syr James a Dowglas ther was slayne,
That daye that he cowde dye.
The yerlle of Mentaye he was slayne.
Grysely groned uppon the growynd;
Syr Davy Skotte, syr Water Stewarde,
Syr Jhon of Agurstonne.
Syr Charlles Morrey in that place,
That never a fote wold flee;
Syr Hugh Maxwell, a lorde he was,
Wyth the Dowglasse dyd he dye.
Ther was slayne upon the Skottes syde,
For soth as I yow saye,
For fowre and forty thowsande Skottes
Went but eyghtene awaye.
Ther was slayne upon the Ynglysshe syde,
For soth and sertenlye,
A gentyll knyght, syr Jhon ‘Fitzhewe,’
Yt was the more pety.
Syr James Harebotell ther was slayne,
For hym ther hartes were sore,
The gentyll ‘Lovell’ ther was slayne,
That the Perssye’s standerd bore.
Ther was slayne upon the Ynglysshe perte,
For soth as I yow saye;
Of nyne thowsande Ynglysshe men,
Fyve hondert cam awaye:
The other were slayne in the fylde,
Cryste kepe ther sowlles from wo,
Seying ther was so fewe fryndes
Agaynst so many a foo.
Then on the morne they mayde them beerys
Of byrch, and haysell graye;
Many a widowe wyth wepyng teyres
Ther makes they fette awaye.
Thys fraye bygan at Otterborne
Bytwene the nyghte and the daye;
Ther the Dowglas lost hys lyffe,
And the Perssye was lede awaye.
Then was ther a Scottysh prysoner tayne,
Syr Hewe Montgomery was hys name,
For soth as I yow saye,
He borrowed the Perssye home agayne.
Now let us all for the Perssye praye,
To Jesu most of myght,
To bryng hys sowlle to the blysse of heven,
For he was a gentyll knyght.
Notes
39 The armorial ensigns of Douglas were Argent, a Man’s Heart, Gules, and on a chief Azure three stars of the first.