Rhymes of Northern Bards / Being a Curious Collection of Old and New Songs and Poems, Peculiar to the Counties of Newcastle upon Tyne, Northumberland, and Durham

by Unknown

THE BATTLE OF OTTERBURN.

Fought the 9th of August, 1388.

Camden, in his Britannia, page 850, gives the following account of this battle:—“There happened this year, (1388) at Otterburn, in Northumberland, a stout engagement between the Scots and English:—Victory three or four times changing sides, and at last fixing with the Scots; for Henry Piercy, (for his youthful forwardness, by-named Hotspur) who commanded the English, was himself taken prisoner, and lost 1500 of his men; and William Douglass, the Scots general, fell, with the greatest part of his army; so that never was there a greater instance of the martial prowess of both nations.” Sir John Froysart (who lived at that time) gives a full account of this battle, and says, that it was Earl James Douglass who was the Scottish general. See Eachard, Rapin, &c.

From an old MSS.

Yt fell abowght the Lamasse tyde,

Whan husbondes wynne ther haye,

The dowghtye Dowglasse bowynd him to ryde,

In Ynglond to take a praye:

The yerlle of Fyffe, withowghten stryffe,

He bowynd him over Sulway:

The grete wolde ever together ryde,

That raysse they may rewe for aye.

Over ‘Ottercap’ hyll they cam in,

And so dowyn by Rodelyffe crage,

Upon Grene ‘Leyton’ they lyghted dowyn,

’Styrande many a’ stage:

And boldely brente Northomberlonde,

And haryed many a towyn;

They dyd owr Ynglysh men grete wrange,

To battell that were not bowyn.

Than spake a berne upon the bent,

Of comforte that was not colde,

And sayd, we have brente Northomberlonde,

We have all welth in holde.

Now we have haryed all Bamboroweschyre,

All the welth in the worlde have wee,

I rede we ryde to Newe Castell,

So styll and stalwurthlye.

Upon the morrowe, when it was day,

The standerdes schone fulle bryght;

To the Newe Castell the toke the waye,

And thether they cam fulle ryght.

Syr Henry Perssye laye at the Newe Castell,[38]

I tell yow withowtten drede;

He had byn a march-man all hys dayes,

And kept Barwyke upon Twede.

To the Newe Castell when they cam,

The Skottes they cryde on hyght,

Syr Harye Perssye, and thow byste within,

Com to the fylde, and fyght:

For we have brente Northomberlonde,

Thy erytage good and ryght;

And syne my logeyng I have take,

With my brande dubbyd many a knyght.

Syr Harye Perssye cam to the walles,

The Skottysh oste for to se;

And sayd, And thou hast brente Northomberlonde,

Full sore it rewyeth me.

Yf thow hast haryed all Bamboroweschyre,

Thow hast done me grete envye;

For the trespasse thow hast me done,

The tone of us schall dye.

Where schall I byde the, sayd the Dowglasse,

Or where wylte thow com to me?

“At Otterborne in the hygh way,

Ther mast thow well looged be.

The roo full rekeless ther sche runnes,

To make the game and glee:

The fawken and the fesaunt both,

Among the holtes on hye.

Ther mast thow have thy welth at wyll,

Well looged ther mast be;

Yt schall not be long, or I com the tyll,”

Sayd syr Harye Perssye.

Ther schall I byde the, said the Dowglasse,

By the fayth of my bodye.

Thether schall I com, sayd syr Harye Perssye;

My trowth I plyght to the.

A pype of wyne he gave them over the walles,

For soth, as I yow saye,

Ther he myed the Dowglasse drynke,

And all hys ost that daye.

The Dowglasse turnyd hym homewarde agayne,

For soth withowghten naye,

He took hys logeynge at Otterborne

Upon a Wedynsday:

And ther he pyght hys standerd dowyn,

Hys gettyng more and lesse,

And syne he warned hys men to goo,

To chose ther geldynges gresse.

A Skottyshe knyght hoved upon the bent,

A wache I dare well saye:

So was he ware on the noble Perssy,

In the dawnyng of the daye.

He prycked to his pavyleon dore,

As fast as he myght ronne,

Awaken, Dowglasse, cryed the knyght,

For hys love that syttes in trone.

Awaken, Dowglasse, cryed the knyght,

For thow maste waken wyth wynne;

Yender have I spyed the prowde Perssye,

And seven standardes wyth hym.

Nay, by my trowth, the Dowglasse sayed,

Yt ys but a fayned taylle:

He durst not loke on my brede banner,

For all Ynglonde so haylle.

Was I not yesterdaye at the Newe Castell,

That stondes so fayre on Tyne?

For all the men the Perssye had,

He cowde not garr me ones to dyne.

He stepped owt at hys pavelyon dore,

To loke and yt were lesse;

“Araye yow, lordynges, one and all,

For here bygynnes no peysse.

The yerlle of Mentaye, thow art my erne,

The fowarde I gyve to thee:

The yerlle of Huntley cawte and kene,

He schall ‘wyth the be.’

The lorde of Bowghan in armure bryght,

On the other hand he schall be:

Lorde Jhonstone, and lorde Maxwell,

They to schall be wyth me.

Swynton fayre fylde upon your pryde,

To batell make yow bowen:

Syr Davy Skotte, syr Water Stewarde,

Syr Jhon of Agurstone.”

[38] The Scots, in this inroad, lay before Newcastle three days, where there was an almost continual skirmish. Sir Henry Percy, (with his brother, had come to Newcastle, on the intelligence of the Scots being abroad) in one of these skirmishes, lost his pennon or standard; and pledging himself to redeem it, followed the Scots to Otterburn, where the battle took place. See Freysart’s Chronicles.

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A FYTTE.

The Perssye came byfore hys oste,

Whych was ever a gentyll knyght,

Upon the Dowglasse lowde can he crye,

I wyll holde that I have hyght:

For thou haste brente Northomberlonde,

And done me grete envye;

For thys trespasse thow haste me done,

The tone of us schall dye.

The Dowglasse answerde him agayne,

With grete wurdes upon hye,

And sayd, I have twenty agaynst ‘thy’ one.

Byholde and thow maste see.

Wyth that the Perssye was grevyd sore,

For soth, as I yow saye:

He lyghted dowyn upon hys foote,

And schoote his horsse clene away.

Every man sawe that he dyd soo,

That rall was ever in rowght;

Every man schoote hys horsse hym froo,

And lyght hym rowynde abowght.

This syr Harye Perssye toke the fylde,

For soth, as I yow saye:

Jesu Cryste in heven on hyght

Dyd helpe hym well that daye.

But nyne thowsande, ther was no moo;

The cronykle wyll not layne:

Forty thowsande Skottes and fowre

That day fowght them agayne.

But when the battell byganne to joyne,

In hast ther cam a knyght,

The letters fayr furth hath he tayne,

And thus he sayd full ryght:

My lorde, your father he gretes yow well,

Wyth many a noble knyght;

He desyres yow to byde

That he may see thys fyght.

The baron of Grastoke ys com owt of the west,

Wyth hym a noble companye;

All they loge at your fathers thys nyght,

And the battell fayne wolde they see.

For Jesus love, sayd syr Harye Perssye,

That dyed for yow and me,

Wende to my lorde my father agayne,

And saye thow sawe me not wyth yee.

My trowth ys plyght to yonne Skottysh knyght,

Yt nedes me not to layne,

That I schulde byde hym upon thys bent,

And I have hys trowth agayne:

And yf that I wynde off thys growende,

For soth onfowghten awaye,

He wolde me call but a kowarde knyght

Yn hys londe another daye.

Yet had I lever to be rynde and rente,

By Mary that mykell maye,

Then ever my manhood schulde be reprovyd,

Wyth a Skotte another daye.

Wherfore, schote, archars, for my sake,

And let scharpe arowes flee:

Mynstrells, playe up for your waryson,

And well quyt yt schall be.

Every man thynke on hys trewe love,

And marke hym to the Trenite:

For to God I make myne avowe

This daye wyll I not fle.

The blodye harte yn the Dowglas armes,[39]

Hys standerde stode on hye;

That every man myght full well knowe,

By syde stode starres thre.

The whyte lyon on the Ynglyssh perte,

Forsoth as I yow sayne;

The lucettes and the ‘cressawntes’ both;

The Skottes fowght them agayne.

Upon sent Andrewe lowde can they crye,

And thrysse they schowte on ayght,

And syne marked them one owr Ynglysshe men,

As I have tolde yow ryght.

Sent George the bryght, owr ladyes knyght,

To name they were full fayne;

Owr Ynglisshe men they cryde on hyght,

And thrysse the schowtte agayne.

Wyth that scharpe arowes bygan to flee,

I tell yow in sertayne;

Men of armes byganne to joyne;

Many a dowghty man was ther slayne.

The Perssye and the Dowglas mette,

That ather of other was fayne;

They ‘swapped’ together whyll that the swette,

Wyth swordes of fine collayne;

Tyll the bloode from ther bassonettes ranne,

As the roke doth in the rayne.

Yelde the to me, sayd the Dowglas,

Or ellse thow schalt be slayne:

For I see, by thy bryght bassonet,

Thow arte sum man of myght;

And so I do by thy burnysshed brande,

Thow art an yerle, or elles a knyght.

By my good faythe, sayd the noble Perssye,

Now haste thou rede full ryght,

Yet wyll I never yelde me to the,

Whyll I may stonde and fyght.

They swapped together, whyll that they swette,

Wyth swordes scharpe and long;

Ych on other so faste thee beette,

Tyll ther helmes cam in peyses dowyn.

The Perssye was a man of strength,

I tell yow in thys stounde,

He smote the Dowglas at the swordes length,

That he felle to the growynde.

The sworde was scharpe and sore can byte,

I tell yow in sertayne;

To the harte he cowde him smyte,

Thus was the Dowglas slayne.

The stonderdes stode styll on ‘elke’ asyde,

Wyth many a grevous grone;

Ther the fowght the daye, and all the nyght,

And many a dowghty man was slayne.

Ther was no freke that ther wolde flye,

But styffely in stowre can stond,

Ych one hewyng on other whyll they myght drye,

Wyth many a bayllefull bronde.

Ther was slayne upon the Skottes syde,

For soth and sertenly,

Syr James a Dowglas ther was slayne,

That daye that he cowde dye.

The yerlle of Mentaye he was slayne.

Grysely groned uppon the growynd;

Syr Davy Skotte, syr Water Stewarde,

Syr Jhon of Agurstonne.

Syr Charlles Morrey in that place,

That never a fote wold flee;

Syr Hugh Maxwell, a lorde he was,

Wyth the Dowglasse dyd he dye.

Ther was slayne upon the Skottes syde,

For soth as I yow saye,

For fowre and forty thowsande Skottes

Went but eyghtene awaye.

Ther was slayne upon the Ynglysshe syde,

For soth and sertenlye,

A gentyll knyght, syr Jhon ‘Fitzhewe,’

Yt was the more pety.

Syr James Harebotell ther was slayne,

For hym ther hartes were sore,

The gentyll ‘Lovell’ ther was slayne,

That the Perssye’s standerd bore.

Ther was slayne upon the Ynglysshe perte,

For soth as I yow saye;

Of nyne thowsande Ynglysshe men,

Fyve hondert cam awaye:

The other were slayne in the fylde,

Cryste kepe ther sowlles from wo,

Seying ther was so fewe fryndes

Agaynst so many a foo.

Then on the morne they mayde them beerys

Of byrch, and haysell graye;

Many a widowe wyth wepyng teyres

Ther makes they fette awaye.

Thys fraye bygan at Otterborne

Bytwene the nyghte and the daye;

Ther the Dowglas lost hys lyffe,

And the Perssye was lede awaye.

Then was ther a Scottysh prysoner tayne,

Syr Hewe Montgomery was hys name,

For soth as I yow saye,

He borrowed the Perssye home agayne.

Now let us all for the Perssye praye,

To Jesu most of myght,

To bryng hys sowlle to the blysse of heven,

For he was a gentyll knyght.

[39] The armorial ensigns of Douglas were Argent, a Man’s Heart, Gules, and on a chief Azure three stars of the first.

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