But trust me, Percy, pittye it were,

And great offence to kill
Any of these our guiltlesse men,

For they have done no ill.

Let thou and I the battell trye,
And set our men aside."
"Accurst bee he," Erle Percy sayd,
By whome this is denyed.”

Then stept a gallant squier forth,
Witherington was his name,
Who said, "I wold not have it told
To Henry our king for shame,

That ere my captaine fought on foote,
And I stood looking on,

You bee two erles," sayd Witherington,
"And I, a squier alone:

Ile doe the best that doe I may,
While I have power to stand:
While I have power to weeld my sword,
Ile fight with hart and hand."

Our English archers bent their bowes,
Their harts were good and trew;
Att the first flight of arrowes sent,
Full four-score Scots they slew.

'[Yet bides Earl Douglas on the bent,
As Chieftain stout and good.

As valiant Captain, all unmov'd
The shock he firmly stood.

His host he parted had in three,
As Leader ware and try'd,

And soon his spearmen on their foes
Bare down on every side.

Throughout the English archery
They dealt full many a wound:
But still our valiant Englishmen
All firmly kept their ground:

1 The four stanzas here inclosed in Brackets, which are borrowed chiefly from the ancient Copy, are offered to the Reader instead of the following lines, which occur in the Editor's folio MS.:

To drive the deere with hound and horne,

Douglas bade on the bent;

Two captaines moved with mickle might,
Their speres to shivers went.

And throwing strait their bows away,

They grasp'd their swords so bright:
And now sharp blows, a heavy shower,
On shields and helmets light.]

They closed full fast on everye side,
Noe slacknes there was found;
And many a gallant gentleman
Lay gasping on the ground.

O Christ! it was a griefe to see,
And likewise for to heare,

The cries of men lying in their gore,
And scattered here and there.

At last these two stout erles did meet,
Like captaines of great might:
Like lyons wood, they layd on lode,
And made a cruell fight:

They fought untill they both did sweat,
With swords of tempered steele;
Until the blood, like drops of rain,
They trickling downe did feele.

"Yeeld thee, Lord Percy," Douglas sayd; "In faith I will thee bringe,

Where thou shalt high advanced bee
By James our Scottish king:

Thy ransome I will freely give,
And this report of thee,

Thou art the most couragious knight,
That ever I did see."

"Noe, Douglas," quoth Erle Percy then,

"Thy proffer I doe scorne;

I will not yeelde to any Scott,

That ever yett was borne."

With that, there came an arrow keene.
Out of an English bow,

Which struck Erle Douglas to the heart,

A deepe and deadlye blow:

Who never spake more words than these,

"Fight on, my merry men all;

For why, my life is at an end;

Lord Percy sees my fall."

Then leaving liffe, Erle Percy tooke
The dead man by the hand;
And said, "Erle Douglas, for thy life
Wold I had lost my land.

O Christ! my verry hart doth bleed
With sorrow for thy sake;

For sure, a more redoubted knight
Mischance cold never take."

A knight amongst the Scotts there was, Which saw Erle Douglas dye,

Who streight in wrath did vow revenge
Upon the Lord Percye:

Sir Hugh Mountgomery was he call'd,
Who, with a spere most bright,
Well-mounted on a gallant steed,
Ran fiercely through the fight;

And past the English archers all,
Without all dread or feare;

And through Earl Percyes body then
He thrust his hatefull spere;

With such a vehement force and might

He did his body gore,

The staff ran through the other side
A large cloth-yard, and more.

So thus did both these nobles dye,
Whose courage none could staine:
An English archer then perceiv'd
The noble erle was slaine;

He had a bow bent in his hand,
Made of a trusty tree;
An arrow of a cloth-yard long
Up to the head drew hee:

Against Sir Hugh Mountgomerye,
So right the shaft he sett,

The grey goose-winge that was thereon,
In his harts bloode was wett.

This fight did last from breake of day, Till setting of the sun;

For when they rung the evening-bell,

The battel scarce was done.