In misery my life to lead?
To fall from my bliss, alas the while!
It was my sore and heavye lott;
And I must leave my native land,
And I must live a man forgot.
One gentle Armstrong I doe ken,
A Scot he is much bound to mee;
He dwelleth on the border-side,
To him I’ll goe right privilie.
Thus did the noble Percy ‘plaine,