THE TIDINGS The newes was brought to Eddenborrow, 'O heavy newes,' King James did say, I have not any captaine more 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, Yet shall not Scots nor Scotland say, I'll be revengèd 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, And of the rest, of small account, Thus endeth the hunting of Chevy-Chace, God save our king, and bless this land XXVI SIR PATRICK SPENS THE King sits in Dunfermline town, O up and spake an eldern knight, Our King has written a braid letter 'To Noroway, to Noroway, To Noroway o'er the faem; The first word that Sir Patrick read, 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, They hoysed their sails on Monday morn They hae landed in Noroway 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 saw the new moon late yestreen 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, 'O here am I, a sailor gude, He hadna gane a step, a step, A step but barely ane, When a bolt flew out o' our goodly ship, 'Gae fetch a web o' the silken claith, Anither o' the twine, And wap them into our ship's side, They fetched a web o' the silken claith, 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; O laith, laith were our gude Scots lords O lang, lang may the ladies sit Wi' their fans intill their hand, And lang, lang may the maidens sit Half ower, half ower to Aberdour, And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens XXVII BRAVE LORD WILLOUGHBY THE fifteenth day of July, With glistering spear and shield, A famous fight in Flanders Was foughten in the field: |