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agayne archars archer awaye brave bryght call'd Chyviat cittie of London Cockerton dead dear doth Dowglas drink Durham e'er earl Douglas earl Percy Elsie Marley Fal lal Fawdon fear fell Follow the horses friends fylde gallant George grandy's Harding and Wright hartes hast heart Heigh-ho Highland laddie hondrith JOSEPH RITSON keel row king lad oh lasses of Sedgfield Limbo lord Derwentwater lord Perse maid marrow Martha monie mother myght ne'er never Newcastle beer night noble Northumberland o'er owar Perssy pray Randal river Tees roaring company Sandgate sayd schall Sedgfield Are roaring shin-splints sing Stockton's commendation Skottes slain SONG sore sorrow soth spear Stockton's commendation Sunderland sword tell thee Ther was slayne thou thow Tividale Tommy Linn took town trace the green Tune unto Wallington wear Weardale-men wife wolde wou'd wyll Yarm Ynglyssh Yorkshire yow saye
Page 33 - With that there came an arrow keen Out of an English bow, Which struck Earl Douglas to the heart — A deep and deadly blow : Who never spoke more words than these — " Fight on, my merry men all; For why, my life is at an end, Lord Percy sees my fall.
Page 35 - Ratcliff too, His sister's son was he; Sir David Lamb so well esteem'd, Yet saved could not be.
Page 30 - Ere thus I will out-braved be, One of us two shall die : I know thee well, an earl thou art, Lord Percy, so am I. But trust me, Percy, pity it were, And great offence, to kill Any of these our harmless men, For they have done no ill : Let thou and I the battle try. And set our men aside.
Page 36 - Scotland can witness be I have not any captain more Of such account as he." Like tidings to King Henry came Within as short a space, That Percy of Northumberland Was slain in Chevy-Chase : "Now God be with him...
Page 23 - With his hart blood the wear wete. Ther was never a freake wone foot wolde fle, But still in stour dyd stand, Heawyng on yche othar, whyll the myght dre, With many a bal-ful brande. This battell begane in Chyviat An owar befor the none, And when even-song bell was rang The battell was nat half done. The tooke 'on...
Page 27 - The hunting of that day. The stout Earl of Northumberland A vow to God did make, His pleasure in the Scottish woods Three summer days to take; The chiefest harts in Chevy-Chase To kill and bear away.
Page 18 - Nowe Cristes cors on his crowne, sayd the lord Perse. Who-soever ther-to says nay. Be my troth, doughte Doglas, he says, Thow shalt never se that day; Nethar in Ynglonde, Skottlonde, nar France, Nor for no man of a woman born, But and fortune be my chance, I dar met him on man for on.
Page 34 - The noble Earl was slain : He had a bow bent in his hand, Made of a trusty tree ; An arrow of a cloth-yard long...