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THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOUENE. 13
All they loge at your fathers thys nyght,
And the battell fayne wold they see. *)
" For Jesus love," sayd Syr Harye Percy,
" That dyed for yow and me, Wende to my lorde my father agayne,
And saye thou saw me not with yee.
"My trowth ys plyght to yonne Skottysh knyght,«
It nedes me not to layne, That I schulde byde hym upon thys bent,
And I have hys trowth agayne.
" And if that I wende off thys grownde,
For soth, unfoughten awaye, *>
He wolde me call but a kowarde knyght In hys londe another daye.
" Yet had I lever to be rynde and rente,
By Mary, that mykel maye, Then ever my manhod schulde be reprovyd k
Wyth a Skotte another daye.
" Wherefore schote, archars, for my sake,
And let scharpe arowes flee; Mynstrells, play up for your waryson,
And well quyt it schall be. m
" Every man thynke on hys trewe love, And marke hym to the Trenite ; |
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