Lyra Heroica Part 8

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 s.p.a.ce, That Percy of Northumberland Was slaine in Chevy-Chace:

'Now G.o.d 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 revenged 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.

G.o.d save our king, and bless this land With plentye, joy, and peace, And grant henceforth that foule debate 'Twixt n.o.blemen 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 s.h.i.+p 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 lauched 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 s.h.i.+p 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 s.h.i.+p 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 s.h.i.+p, And the salt sea it came in.

'Gae fetch a web o' the silken claith, Anither o' the twine, And wap them into our s.h.i.+p'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 s.h.i.+p'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 s.h.i.+eld, 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 b.l.o.o.d.y sh.o.r.e.

'Stand to it, n.o.ble 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 b.l.o.o.d.y enemy They fiercely did a.s.sail, 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 endured 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 kneeled on the ground, And praised G.o.d 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.