  Fytte IIThe Percy out of Northumberland, An avow to God made he That he would hunt in the mountains Of Cheviot within days three, In the maugre And all that e’er with him be. IIThe fattest harts in all Cheviot He would kill and carry away.— ‘By my faith,’ said the doughty Douglas again, ‘I will let IIIThen the Percy out of Banborowe came, With him a mighty meinye With fifteen hundred archers bold Chosen out of shirÈs three. IVThis began on a Monday at morn, In Cheviot the hills so hye; The child may rue that is unborn, It was the more pitye. VThe drivers through the woodÈs went [All] for to raise the deer, Bowmen bicker’d With their broad arrows clear. VIThen the wild On every sidÈ shear Greyhounds thoro’ the grevÈs For to kill their deer. VIIThis began on Cheviot the hills abune Early on a Monenday; By that it drew to the hour of noon A hundred fat harts dead there lay. VIIIThey blew a mort They ’sembled on sidÈs shear; To the quarry To the brittling IXHe said, ‘It was the Douglas’ promise This day to meet me here; But I wist he would fail, verament!’ —A great oath the Percy sware. XAt the last a squire of Northumberland LookÈd at his hand full nigh; He was ware o’ the doughty Douglas coming, With him a great meinye. XIBoth with speÄr, bill and brand,— ’Twas a mighty sight to see; Hardier men both of heart nor hand Were not in ChristiantÈ. XIIThey were twenty hundred spearmen good, Withouten any fail: They were born along by the water o’ Tweed I’ the boun’s XIII‘Leave off the brittling of deer,’ he said; ‘To your bows look ye take good heed, For sith ye were on your mothers born Had ye never so mickle need.’ XIVThe doughty Douglas on a steed Rode all his men beforn, His armour glitter’d as did a gleed Bolder bairn XV‘Tell me whose men ye are,’ he says, ‘Or whose men that ye be; Who gave you leave in this Cheviot chase In the spite of mine and of me?’ XVIThe first man that him answer made It was the good Lord Percye: ‘We will not tell thee whose men we are, Nor whose men that we be; But we will hunt here in this chase In the spite of thine and of thee. XVII‘The fattest harts in all Cheviot We have kill’d, to carry away.’— ‘By my troth,’ said the doughty Douglas again, ‘The one of us dies this day. XVIII‘[Yet] to kill allÈ these guiltless men Alas, it were great pitye! But, Percy, thou art a lord of land, I an earl in my countrye— Let all our men on a party And do battle of thee and me!’ XIX‘Christ’s |
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