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THE TIDINGS

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.'

6

Like tydings to King Henry came,

Within as short a space,
That Percy of Northumberland

Was slaine in Chevy-Chace: ‘Now God 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.
God save our king, and bless this land

With plentye, joy, and peace,
And grant henceforth that foule debate

'Twixt noblemen 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 ship 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 ship 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 ship 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 ship,

And the salt sea it came in.
'Gae fetch a web o' the silken claith,

Anither o' the twine,
And wap them into our ship's side,

And letna the sea come in.'
They fetched a web o' the silken claith,

Anither o' the twine,

ower

And they wapped them round that gude ship'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 w

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 shield,
A famous fight in Flanders

Was foughten in the field:

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