The commouns renyed[591] ther taxes to pay
Of them demaunded and asked by the kinge;
With one voice importune, they playnly said nay:80
They buskt them on a bushment[592] themself in baile[593] to bringe:
Agayne the kings plesure to wrastle or to wringe,[594]
Bluntly as bestis withe boste[595] and with cry
They saide, they forsede[596] not, nor carede not to dy.
The noblenes of the northe this valiant lorde and knyght,85
As man that was innocent of trechery or trayne,
Presed forthe boldly to witstand the myght,
And, lyke marciall Hector, he fauht them agayne,
Vigorously upon them with myght and with mayne,
Trustinge in noble men that wer with hym there:90
Bot all they fled from hym for falshode or fere.
Barons, knights, squyers, one and alle,
Togeder with servaunts of his famuly,
Turnid their backis, and let ther master fall,
Of whos [life] they counted not a flye;95
Take up whos wolde for them, they let hym ly.
Alas! his golde, his fee, his annuall rente
Upon suche a sort[597] was ille bestowde and spent.
He was envyronde aboute on every syde
Withe his enemys, that were stark mad and wode;[598]100
Yet whils he stode he gave them woundes wyde:
Alas for routhe![599] what thouche his mynde were goode,
His corage manly, yet ther he shed his bloode!
All left alone, alas! he fawte in vayne;
For cruelly amonge them ther he was slayne.105
Alas for pite! that Percy thus was spylt,[600]
The famous erle of Northumberlande:
Of knightly prowès the sworde pomel and hylt,
The myghty lyoun[601] doutted[602] by se and lande!
O dolorous chaunce of fortuns fruward hande!110
What man remembring how shamfully he was slayne,
From bitter weepinge hymself kan restrayne?
O cruell Mars, thou dedly god of war!
O dolorous teusday, dedicate to thy name,
When thou shoke thy sworde so noble a man to mar!115
O grounde ungracious, unhappy be thy fame,
Whiche wert endyed with rede blode of the same!
Moste noble erle! O fowle mysuryd[603] grounde
Whereon he gat his fynal dedely wounde!
O Atropos, of the fatall systers thre,120
Goddes mooste cruell unto the lyf of man,
All merciles, in the ys no pitè!
O homycide, whiche sleest[604] all that thou kan,
So forcibly upon this erle thow ran,
That with thy sworde enharpid[605] of mortall drede,125
Thou kit[606] asonder his perfight[607] vitall threde!
My wordis unpullysht be nakide and playne,
Of aureat[608] poems they want ellumynynge;[609]
Bot by them to knoulege ye may attayne
Of this lordis dethe and of his murdrynge.130
Which whils he lyvyd had fuyson[610] of every thing,
Of knights, of squyers, chef lord of toure and toune,
Tyl fykkill[611] fortune began on hym to frowne.
Paregall[612] to dukis, with kings he myght compare,
Surmountinge in honor all erls he did excede,135
To all cuntreis aboute hym reporte[613] me I dare.
Lyke to Eneas benygne in worde and dede,
Valiaunt as Hector in every marciall nede,
Provydent, discrete, circumspect, and wyse,139
Tyll the chaunce ran agyne him of fortunes duble dyse.
What nedethe me for to extoll his fame
With my rude pen enkankerd all with rust?
Whos noble actis shew worsheply his name,
Transcendyng far myne homely muse, that must
Yet sumwhat wright supprisid with hartly lust,[614]145
Truly reportinge his right noble astate,
Immortally whiche is immaculate.