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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 space,
Was slaine in Chevy-Chace: ‘Now God be with him,' said our king,
Sith it will no better be;
Five hundred as good as he:
But I will vengeance take:
For brave Erle Percy's sake.'
This vow full well the king performed
After, at Humbledowne;
With lords of great renowne,
Did many thousands dye.
Thus endeth the hunting of Chevy-Chace,
Made by the Erle Percye.
With plentye, joy, and peace,
'Twixt noblemen may cease!
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:
That ever sailed the sea.'
And sealed it wi' his hand,
Was walking on the strand. ‘To Noroway, to Noroway,
To Noroway o'er the faem;
'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.
And tauld the King of me,
To sail upon the sea?
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;
Upon a Wodensday.
In Noroway but twae,
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
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.
Wi' the auld moon in her arm;
I fear we'll come to harm.'
A league but barely three,
And gurly grew the sea.
To tak' my helm in hand,
To see if I can spy land?' 'O here am I, a sailor gude,
To tak' the helm in hand,
But I fear you'll ne'er spy land.'
A step but barely ane,
And the salt sea it came in.
Anither o' the twine,
And letna the sea come in.'
Anither o' the twine,
And they wapped them round that gude ship's side,
But still the sea cam' in.
To weet their milk-white hands;
They wat their gowden bands.
To weet their cork-heeled shoon;
They wat their hats aboon.
Wi' their fans intill their hand,
Come sailing to the strand !
Wi’ their goud kaims in their hair,
For them they'll see nae mair.
It's fifty fathoms deep,
Wi' the Scots lords at his feet.
BRAVE LORD WILLOUGHBY
With glistering spear and shield,
Was foughten in the field: