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fell abowght the Lamasse tyde, Whan husbondes wynnes ther haye, The dowghtye Dowglasse bowynd hym to ryde, In Ynglond to take a praye. The yerlle of Fyffe, wythowghten stryffe, He bowynd hym over Sulway; The grete wolde ever to-gether ryde; That raysse they may rewe for aye. Over Hoppertope hyll they cam in, And so down by Rodclyffe crage: Vpon Grene Lynton they lyghted dowyn, Styrande many a stage. And boldely brente Northomberlond, And haryed many a towyn; They dyd owr Ynglyssh men grete wrange, To batell that were not bowyn. Than spake a berne vpon the bent, Of comforte that was not colde, And sayd, We haue brente Northomberlond, We haue all welth in holde. Now we haue haryed all Bamborowe schyre, All the welth in the worlde haue wee, I rede we ryde to Newe Castell, So styll and stalworthlye. Vpon the morowe, when it was day, The standerds schone full bryght; To the Newe Castell the toke the waye, And thether they cam full ryght. Syr Henry Perssy laye at the New Castell, I tell yow wythowtten drede; He had byn a march-man all hys dayes, And kepte Barwyke vpon Twede. To the Newe Castell when they cam, The Skottes they cryde on hyght, 'Syr Hary Perssy, and thou byste within, Com to the fylde, and fyght. 'For we haue brente Northomberlonde, Thy erytage good and ryght, And syne my logeyng I haue take Wyth my brande dubbyd many a knyght.' Syr Harry Perssy cam to the walles, The Skottyssch oste for to se, And sayd, And thou hast brente Northomberlond, Full sore it rewyth me. Yf thou hast haryed all Bamborowe schyre, Thow hast done me grete envye; For the trespasse thow hast me done, The tone of vs schall dye. 'Where schall I byde the?' sayd the Dowglas, 'Or where wylte thow com to me?' 'At Otterborne, in the hygh way, [T]her mast thow well logeed be. '[T]he roo full rekeles ther sche rinnes, [T]o make the game a[nd] glee; 'T]he fawken and the fesaunt both, Among the holtes on hye. 'Ther mast thow haue thy welth at wyll, Well looged ther mast be; Yt schall not be long or I com the tyll,' Sayd Syr Harry Perssye. 'Ther schall I byde the,' sayd the Dowglas, 'By the fayth of my bodye:' 'Thether schall I com,' sayd Syr Harry Perssy, 'My trowth I plyght to the.' A pype of wyne he gaue them over the walles, For soth as I yow saye; Ther he mayd the Dowglasse drynke, And all hys ost that daye. The Dowglas turnyd hym homewarde agayne, For soth withowghten naye; He toke hys logeyng at Oterborne, Vpon a Wedynsday. And ther he pyght hys standerd dowyn, Hys getting more and lesse, And syne he warned hys men to goo To chose ther geldynges gresse. A Skottysshe knyght hoved vpon the bent, A wache I dare well saye; So was he ware on the noble Perssy, In the dawnyng of the daye. He prycked to hys pavyleon-dore, As faste as he myght ronne; 'Awaken, Dowglas,' cryed the knyght, 'For hys love that syttes in trone. 'Awaken, Dowglas,' cryed the knyght, 'For thow maste waken wyth wynne; Yender haue I spyed the prowde Perssye, And seven stondardes wyth hym.' 'Nay by my trowth,' the Dowglas sayed, 'It ys but a fayned taylle; He durst not loke on my brede banner For all Ynglonde so haylle. 'Was I not yesterdaye at the Newe Castell, That stondes so fayre on Tyne? For all the men the Perssy had, He coude not garre me ones to dyne.' He stepped owt at his pavelyon-dore, To loke and it were lesse: 'Araye yow, lordynges, one and all, For here bygynnes no peysse. 'The yerle of Mentaye, thow arte my eme, The fowarde I gyve to the: The yerlle of Huntlay, cawte and kene, He schall be wyth the. 'The lorde of Bowghan, in armure bryght, On the other hand he schall be; Lord Jhonstoune and Lorde Maxwell, They to schall be wyth me. 'Swynton, fayre fylde vpon your pryde! To batell make yow bowen Syr Davy Skotte, Syr Water Stewarde, Syr Jhon of Agurstone!' The Perssy cam byfore hys oste, Wych was ever a gentyll knyght; Vpon the Dowglas lowde can he crye, 'I wyll holde that I haue hyght. 'For thou haste brente Northomberlonde, And done me grete envye; For thys trespasse thou hast me done, The tone of vs schall dye.' The Dowglas answerde hym agayne, Wyth grett wurdes vpon hye, And sayd, I haue twenty agaynst thy one, Byholde, and thou maste see. Wyth that the Perssy was grevyd sore, For soth as I yow saye; He lyghted dowyn vpon his foote, And schoote hys horsse clene awaye. Euery man sawe that he dyd soo, That ryall was euer in rowght; Euery man schoote hys horsse hym froo, And lyght hym rowynde abowght. Thus Syr Hary Perssye toke the fylde, For soth as I yow saye; Jhesu Cryste in hevyn on hyght Dyd helpe hym well that daye. But nyne thowzand, ther was no moo, The cronykle wyll not layne; Forty thowsande of Skottes and fowre That day fowght them agayne.