THE BATTLE
Our English archers bent their bowes, Their hearts were good and trew, At the first flight of arrowes sent, Full fourscore Scots they slew.
Yet bides Erle Douglas on the bent, As Chieftain stout and good. As valiant Captain, all unmoved The shock he firmly stood.
His host he parted had in three, As leader ware and try'd, And soon his spearmen on their foes Bare down on every side.
Throughout the English archery They dealt full many a wound; But still our valiant Englishmen All firmly kept their ground,
And, throwing strait their bowes away, They grasped their swords so bright, And now sharp blows, a heavy shower, On shields and helmets light.
They closed full fast on every side, No slackness there was found; And many a gallant gentleman Lay gasping on the ground.
O Christ! it was a griefe to see, And likewise for to heare, The cries of men lying in their gore, And scattered here and there!
At last these two stout erles did meet, Like captaines of great might: Like lions wode, they laid on lode, And made a cruel fight:
They fought untill they both did sweat With swords of tempered steele; Until the blood like drops of rain They trickling downe did feele.
‘Yield thee, Lord Percy,’ Douglas said; ‘In faith I will thee bringe, Where thou shalt high advancèd be By James our Scottish king:
Thy ransome I will freely give, And this report of thee, Thou art the most courageous knight, That ever I did see.’
‘No, Douglas,’ quoth Erle Percy then, ‘Thy proffer I do scorne; I will not yield to any Scot, That ever yet was borne.’
With that, there came an arrow keene Out of an English bow, Which struck Erle Douglas to the heart, A deep and deadly blow:
Who never spake more words than these, ‘Fight on, my merry men all; For why, my life is at an end; Lord Percy sees my fall.’
Then leaving life, Erle Percy tooke The dead man by the hand; And said, ‘Erle Douglas, for thy life Wold I had lost my land!
O Christ! my very heart doth bleed With sorrow for thy sake, For sure, a more redoubted knight Mischance could never take.’
A knight amongst the Scots there was, Which saw Erle Douglas dye, Who straight in wrath did vow revenge Upon the Lord Percye.
Sir Hugh Mountgomery was he called Who, with a speare most bright, Well-mounted on a gallant steed, Ran fiercely through the fight,
And past the English archers all, Without or dread or feare, And through Erle Percy's body then He thrust his hateful speare.
With such a vehement force and might He did his body gore, The staff ran through the other side A large cloth-yard, and more.
So thus did both these nobles dye, Whose courage none could staine! An English archer then perceived The noble Erle was slaine:
He had a bow bent in his hand, Made of a trusty tree; An arrow of a cloth-yard long Up to the head drew he;
Against Sir Hugh Mountgomerye So right the shaft he set, The grey goose-winge that was thereon In his heart's bloode was wet.
This fight did last from breake of day Till setting of the sun; For when they rung the evening-bell, The battle scarce was done.