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The most conspicuous officers

Were English captains three, But the bravest man in battel

Was brave Lord Willoughby.

The next was Captain Norris,

A valiant man was he: The other, Captain Turner,

From field would never flee. With fifteen hundred fighting men,

Alas! there were no more, They fought with forty thousand then

Upon the bloody shore.

‘Stand to it, noble pikeman,

And look you round about: And shoot you right, you bow-men,

And we will keep them out:
You musquet and cailiver men,

Do you prove true to me,
I'll be the bravest man in fight,'

Says brave Lord Willoughby.

And then the bloody enemy

They fiercely did assail,
And fought it out most furiously,

Not doubting to prevail:
The wounded men on both sides fell

Most piteous for to see, But nothing could the courage quell

Of brave Lord Willoughby.

For seven hours to all men's view

This fight endured sore, Until our men so feeble grew

That they could fight no more; And then upon dead horses

Full savourly they eat,
And drank the puddle water,

That could no better get.

When they had fed so freely,

They kneelèd on the ground, And praised God devoutly

For the favour they had found; And bearing up their colours,

The fight they did renew, And cutting tow'rds the Spaniard,

Five thousand more they slew.

The sharp steel-pointed arrows

And bullets thick did fly; Then did our valiant soldiers

Charge on most furiously: Which made the Spaniards waver,

They thought it best to flee: They feared the stout behaviour

Of brave Lord Willoughby.

Then quoth the Spanish general, ‘Come, let us march

away, I fear we shall be spoiled all

If that we longer stay:

For yonder comes Lord Willoughby

With courage fierce and fell, He will not give one inch of ground

For all the devils in hell.'

And when the fearful enemy

Was quickly put to flight, Our men pursued courageously

To rout his forces quite; And at last they gave a shout

Which echoed through the sky: 'God, and St. George for England !'

The conquerors did cry.

This news was brought to England

With all the speed might be, And soon our gracious Queen was told

Of this same victory. 'O! this is brave Lord Willoughby,

My love that ever won: Of all the lords of honour

'Tis he great deeds hath done!'

To the soldiers that were maimed,

And wounded in the fray,
The queen allowed a pension

Of fifteen pence a day,
And from all costs and charges

She quit and set them free:
And this she did all for the sake

Of brave Lord Willoughby.

Then courage, noble Englishmen,

And never be dismayed!
If that we be but one to ten,

We will not be afraid
To fight with foreign enemies,

And set our country free.
And thus I end the bloody bout

Of brave Lord Willoughby.



Good Lord Scroope to the hills is gane,

Hunting of the fallow deer;
And he has grippit Hughie the Græme

For stealing of the Bishop's mare.

'Now, good Lord Scroope, this may not be!

Here hangs a broadsword by my side; And if that thou canst conquer me,

The matter it may soon be tried.'

'I ne'er was afraid of a traitor thief;

Although thy name be Hughie the Græme, I'll make thee repent thee of thy deeds,

If God but grant me life and time.'

But as they were dealing their blows so free,

And both so bloody at the time,
Over the moss came ten yeomen so tall,

All for to take bold Hughie the Græme.

O then they grippit Hughie the Græme,

And brought him up through Carlisle town: The lads and lasses stood on the walls,

Crying, 'Hughie the Græme, thou’se ne'er

gae down!'

'O loose my right hand free,' he says,

‘And gie me my sword o' the metal sae fine, He's no in Carlisle town this day

Daur tell the tale to Hughie the Grame.' Up then and spake the brave Whitefoord,

As he sat by the Bishop's knee, 'Twenty white owsen, my gude lord,

If ye'll grant Hughie the Græme to me.' 'O haud your tongue,' the Bishop says,

‘And wi' your pleading let me be; For tho' ten Grahams were in his coat,

They suld be hangit a' for me.'
Up then and spake the fair Whitefoord,

As she sat by the Bishop's knee,
‘A peck o' white pennies, my good lord,

If ye'll grant Hughie the Græme to me.' 'O haud your tongue now, lady fair,

Forsooth, and so it sall na be;
Were he but the one Graham of the name,

He suld be hangit high for me.'
They've ta’en him to the gallows knowe,

He looked to the gallows tree, Yet never colour left his cheek,

Nor ever did he blink his e'e.

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