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dwelt a man in faire Westmerland, Ionn Armestrong men did him call, He had nither lands nor rents coming in, Yet he kept eight score men in his hall. He had horse and harness for them all, Goodly steeds were all milke-white; O the golden bands an about their necks, And their weapons, they were all alike. Newes then was brought unto the king That there was sicke a won as hee, That liv d lyke a bold out-law, And robb d all the north country. The king he writt an a letter then, A letter which was large and long; He sign d it with his owne hand, And he promised to doe him no wrong. When this letter came Ionn untill, His heart it was as blythe as birds on the tree: 'Never was I sent for before any king, My father, my grandfather, nor none but mee. 'And if wee goe the king before, I would we went most orderly; Every man of you shall have his scarlet cloak, Laced with silver laces three. 'Every won of you shall have his velvett coat, Laced with silver lace so white; O the golden bands an about your necks, Black hatts, white feathers, all alyke.' By the morrow morninge at ten of the clock, Towards Edenburough gon was hee, And with him all his eight score men; Good lord, it was a goodly sight for to see! When Ionn came befower the king, He fell downe on his knee; 'O pardon, my soveraigne leige,' he said, 'O pardon my eight score men and mee!' 'Thou shalt have no pardon, thou traytor strong, For thy eight score men nor thee; For to-morrow morning by ten of the clock, Both thou and them shall hang on the gallow-tree.' But Ionn looke'd over his left shoulder, Good Lord, what a grevious look looked hee! Saying, Asking grace of a graceles face-+--+- Why there is none for you nor me. But Ionn had a bright sword by his side, And it was made of the mettle so free, That had not the king, stept his foot aside, He had smitten his head from his faire bodd . Saying, Fight on, my merry men all, And see that none of you be taine; For rather then men shall say we were hange'd, Let them report how we were slaine. Then, God wott, faire Eddenburrough rose, And so besett poore Ionn rounde, That fowerscore and tenn of Ionn s best men Lay gasping all upon the ground. Then like a mad man Ionn laide about, And like a mad man then fought hee, Untill a falce Scot came Ionn behinde, And runn him through the faire boddee. Saying, Fight on, my merry men all, And see that none of you be taine; For I will stand by and bleed but awhile, And then will I come and fight againe. Newes then was brought to young Ionn Armestrong, As he stood by his nurses knee, Who vowed if ere he live'd for to be a man, O the treacherous Scots revengd hee'd be. = = there never a man in all Scotland, From the highest state to the lowest degree, That can shew himself now before the king? Scotland is so full of their traitery. Yes, there is a man in Westmerland, And John Armstrong some do him call; He has no lands nor rents coming in, Yet he keeps eightscore men within his hall. He has horse and harness for them all, And goodly steeds that be milk-white, With their goodly belts about their necks, With hats and feathers all alike. The king he writ a lovely letter, With his own hand so tenderly, And has sent it unto John Armstrong, To come and speak with him speedily. When John he looked the letter upon, Then, Lord! he was as blithe as a bird in a tree: 'I was never before no king in my life, My father, my grandfather, nor none of us three. 'But seeing we must [go] before the king, Lord! we will go most valiantly; You shall every one have a velvet coat, Laid down with golden laces three. 'And you shall every one have a scarlet cloak, Laid down with silver laces five, With your golden belts about your necks, With hats [and] brave feathers all alike.' But when John he went from Guiltknock Hall! The wind it blew hard, and full sore it did rain: 'Now fare you well, brave Guiltknock Hall! I fear I shall never see thee again.' Now John he is to Edenborough gone, And his eightscore men so gallantly, And every one of them on a milk-white steed, With their bucklers and swords hanging down to the knee. But when John he came the king before, With his eightscore men so gallant to see, The king he moved his bonnet to him; He thought he had been a king as well as he. 'O pardon, pardon, my soveraign leige, Pardon for my eightscore men and me! For my name it is John Armstrong, And a subject of yours, my leige,' said he. 'Away with thee, thou false traitor! No pardon I will grant to thee, But, to-morrow before eight of the clock, I will hang thy eightscore men and thee.' O how John looked over his left shoulder! And to his merry men thus said he: I have asked grace of a graceless face, No pardon here is for you nor me.