They took on either hand by the light of the moon,
Many had no strength for to stand in Cheviot the hillis aboon.
Of fifteen hundred archers of England went away but seventy and three,
Of twenty hundred spearmen of Scotland but even five and fift-y;
But all were slain Cheviot within, they had no strength to stand on
hy:
The child may rue that is unborn, it was the more pity.
There was slain with the Lord Percy Sir John of Agerstone,
Sir Roger the hinde Hartley, Sir William the bold Herone,
Sir George the worthy Lumley, a knight of great renown,
Sir Ralph the rich Rugby, with dints were beaten down;
For Witherington my heart was wo, that ever he slain should be,
For when both his leggis were hewen in two, yet he kneeled and fought
on his knee.
There was slain with the doughty Douglas Sir Hugh the Montgomer-y;
Sir Davy Lewdale, that worthy was, his sister's son was he;
Sir Charles of Murray in that place that never a foot would flee;
Sir Hugh Maxwell, a lord he was, with the Douglas did he dee.
So on the morrow they made them biers of birch and hazel so gay;
Many widows with weeping tears came to fetch their makis away.
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