He never stinted, nor never blane,
Till he came to the good lord Percy.

He set upon the lord Percy

A dint, that was full sore;

With a sure spear of a mighty tree

Clean thorough the body he the Percy bore.

At the t'other side, that a man might see,
A large cloth yard and mare:

Two better captains were not in Christianty
Than that day slain were there.

An archer of Northumberland
Saw slain was the lord Percy,
He bare a bent bow in his hand,
Was made of trusty tree :

An arrow, that a cloth-yard was long,
To th' hard steel haled he;

A dint, that was both sad and sore,

He set on Sir Hugh the Mongon-byrry.

The dint it was both sad and sore

That he on Mongon-byrry set;

The swan-feathers, that his arrow bore,

With his heart blood they were wet.

There was never a freake one foot would flee, But still in stour did stand,

Hewing on each other while they might dre, With many a baleful brand.

This battle began in Cheviat

An hour before the noon,

And when evensong bell was rung,

The battle was not half done.

They took on on either hand
By the light of the moon ;
Many had no strength for to stand
In Cheviat the hills aboon.

Of fifteen hundred archers of England
Went away but fifty and three?

Of twenty hundred spearmen of Scotland
But even five and fifty.

But all were slain Cheviat within;

They had no strength to stand on hie

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 Hartly,

Sir William the bold Hearone.

Sir George the worthy Lovele,
A Knight of great renown,

Sir Raff the rich Rugby,

With dints were beaten down.

For Witharington my heart was woe,
That ever he slain should be:

For when both his legs were hewn in two,
Yet he kneel'd and fought on his knee.

There was slain with the doughty Douglas
Sir Hugh the Mongon-byrry,
Sir Davy Lwdale, that worthy was,—
His sister's son was he :

Sir Charles a Murray, in that place,
That never a foot would flee ;
Sir Hugh Maxwell, a lord he was,
With the Douglas did he de.

So on the morrow they made them biers
Of birch and hazel so gray;

Many widows with weeping tears

Came to fetch their mates away.

Northumberland may make great moan: For two such captains as slain were there On the march party shall never be none.

Word is comen to Edin-burrow

To Jamy our Scottish King,

That doughty Douglas, lieutenant of the marches, He lay slain Cheviat within.

His hands did he weal and wring,
He said, "Alas! and woe is me!
Such another captain Scotland within,"
He said, "i' faith should never be."

Word is comen to lovely London
To the fourth Harry our king,

That Lord Percy, lieutenant of the marches,
He lay slain Cheviat 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 quit shall be.

As our noble king made his a-vow,
Like a noble prince of renown,
For the death of the Lord Percy,

He did the battle of Hombyll-down,

Where six and thirty Scottish knights
On a day were beaten down :

Glendale glitter'd on their armour bright,

Over castle, tower and town.

*

Jesu Christ our balys bete

And to the bliss us bring!

Thus was the hunting of the Cheviat :
God send us all good ending!

Unknown.

XI.

THE GLORY OF ENGLAND-IN
ECLIPSE.

Speech of John of Gaunt.

METHINKS I am a prophet new inspired—

*

*

*

This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle,
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-paradise,

This fortress built by Nature for herself,
Against infection and the hand of war ;
This happy breed of men, this little world,
This precious stone set in the silver sea,
Which serves it in the office of a wall,
Or as a moat defensive to a house,

Against the envy of less happier lands;

This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England,

This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings,

Fear'd by their breed, and famous by their birth,