THE HUNTING OF THE CHEVIOT 73 16. The first mane that ever him an answear mayd, 26. Yet byddys the yerle Doglas uppon the bent, yt was the good lord Persë: "We wyll not tell the whoys men we ar," he says, But we wyll hounte hear in this chays, 17. "The fattiste hartës in all Chyviat we have kyld, and cast to carry them away. "Be my troth," sayd the doughetë Dogglas agayn, "therfor the ton1 of us shall de this day." 18. Then sayd the doughtë Doglas "To kyll alle thes giltles men, 71 a captayne good yenoughe, And that was sene verament, for he wrought hom both woo and wouche.' 27. The Dogglas partyd his ost in thre, lyk a cheffe cheften off pryde; With suar spears off myghttë tre, the cum in on every syde: 28. Thrughe our Yngglyshe archery 4 gave many a wounde fulle wyde; Many a doughetë the3 garde to dy, which ganyde them no pryde. III 58. Tivydale may carpe off care, SIR PATRICK SPENS Northombarlond may mayk great mon, For towe such captayns as slayne wear thear, on the March-parti shall never be non. 240 59. Word ys commen to Eddenburrowe, to Jamy the Skottische kynge, That dougheti Duglas, lyff-tenant of the he lay slean Chyviot within. 68. Jhesue Crist our balys bete,1 and to the blys us brynge! Thus was the hountynge of the Chivyat: God sent us alle good endyng! SIR PATRICK SPENS 1. The king sits in Dumferling toune, To sail this schip of mine?" 2. Up and spak an eldern knicht, 3. The king has written a braid letter, 4. The first line that Sir Patrick red, 5. "O wha is this has don this deid, To send me out this time o' the yeir, 6. "Mak hast, mak haste, my mirry men all, Our guid schip sails the morne:" "O say na sae, my master deir, For I feir a deadlie storme. 75 280 ΙΟ 20 330 40 • combs 11. Haf owre, haf owre to Aberdour, And thair lies guid Sir Patrick Spence, CAPTAIN CAR, OR, EDOM O GORDON 1. It befell at Martynmas, When wether waxed colde, Syck, sike, and to-towe3 sike, 2. "Haille, master, and wether you will. And there we will take our reste." 3. "I knowe wher is a gay castle, Is builded of lyme and stone; Within their is a gay ladie, Her lord is riden and gone." 4. The ladie she lend on her castle-walle, She loked upp and downe; There was she ware of an host of men, Come riding to the towne. 5. "Se yow, my meri men all, 6. She thought he had ben her wed lord, 7. They wer no soner at supper sett, 8. "Gyve over thi howsse, thou lady gay, 9. Then bespacke the eldest sonne, That was both whitt and redde: "O mother dere, geve over your howsse, Or elles we shalbe deade." 50 60 70 80 |