Tivydale may carp of care, Northumberland may make great moan,
For two such captains as slain were there on the March parti shall
never be none.
Word is comen to Edinborough to Jamy the Scottish king,
That doughty Douglas, lieutenant of the Marches, he lay slain Cheviot
within.
His hand-es did he weal and wring; he said, "Alas! and woe is me:
Such another captain Scotland within," he said, "yea faith should
never be."
Word is comen to lovely London, to the fourth Harry our king,
That Lord Perc-y, lieutenant of the Marches, he lay slain Cheviot
within.
"God have mercy on his soul," said King Harry, "good Lord, if thy will
it be,
I have a hundred captains in England," he said, "as good as ever was
he;
But Percy, an I brook my life, thy death well quite shall be."
As our noble king made his avow, like a noble prince of renown,
For the death of the Lord Perc-y he did the battle of Homildoun,
Where six and thirty Scottish knights on a day were beaten down;
Glendale glittered on their armour bright, over castle, tower, and
town.
This was the hunting of the Cheviot; that tear began this spurn;
Old men that knowen the ground well enough call it the battle of
Otterburn.
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