It fell about the Lammas tide,
When the muir-men win their hay,
The doughty Douglas bound him to ride
Into England, to drive a prey.
He chose the Gordons and the Graemes,
With them the Lindesays, light and gay;
But the Jardines wald nor with him ride,
And they rue it to this day.
And he has burn’d the dales of Tyne,
And part of Bambrough shire:
And three good towers on Reidswire fells,
He left them all on fire.
And he march’d up to Newcastle,
And rode it round about:
“O wha’s the lord of this castle?
Or wha’s the lady o’t?”
But up spake proud Lord Percy then,
And O but he spake hie!
“I am the lord of this castle,
My wife’s the lady gaye.”
“If thou’rt the lord of this castle,
Sae weel it pleases me!
For, ere I cross the Border fells,
The tane of us sall die.”
He took a lang spear in his hand,
Shod with the metal free,
And for to meet the Douglas there,
He rode right furiouslie.
But O how pale his lady look’d,
Frae aff the castle wa’,
When down, before the Scottish spear,
She saw proud Percy fa’.
“Had we twa been upon the green,
And never an eye to see,
I wad hae had you, flesh and fell;
But your sword sall gae wi’ mee.”
“But gae ye up to Otterbourne,
And wait there dayis three;
And, if I come not ere three dayis end,
A fause knight ca’ ye me.”