in noble men that were with him there; 90
But al they fled from hym for falshode or fere.
Barones, knyghtes, squiers, one[193] and all,
Together with seruauntes of his famuly,
Turned their backis,[194] and let their master fal,
Of whos [life] they[195] counted not a flye;
Take vp whose wold, for ther[196] they let him ly.
Alas, his gold, his fee, his annual rent
Upon suche a sort was ille bestowd and spent!
He was enuirond aboute on euery syde
With his enemyes, that wer starke mad and wode; 100
Yet[197] while[198] he stode he gaue them woundes wyde:
Allas for ruth! what thoughe his mynd wer gode,
His corage manly, yet ther he shed his blode:
Al left alone, alas, he foughte in vayne!
For cruelly[199] among them ther he was slayne.
Alas for pite! that Percy thus was spylt,
The famous Erle of Northumberland;
Of knyghtly prowes the sword, pomel, and hylt,
The myghty lyon doutted by se and lande;[200]
O dolorus chaunce of Fortunes froward hande! 110
What man, remembryng howe shamfully he was slaine,
From bitter weping himself can restrain?
O cruell Mars, thou dedly god of war!
O dolorous tewisday, dedicate to thy name,
When thou shoke thy sworde so noble a man to mar!
O ground vngracious, vnhappy be thy fame,
Which wert endyed with rede bloud of the same
Most noble erle! O foule mysuryd ground,
Whereon he gat his finall dedely wounde!
O Atropos, of the fatall systers iii 120
Goddes most cruel vnto the lyfe of man,
All merciles, in thé is no pite!
O homicide, which sleest all that thou can,
So forcibly vpon this erle thou ran,
That with thy sword, enharpit of mortall drede,
Thou kit asonder his perfight vitall threde!
My wordes vnpullysht be, nakide and playne,
Of aureat poems they want ellumynynge;
But by them to knowlege ye may attayne
Of this lordes dethe and of his murdrynge; 130
Which whils he lyued had fuyson of euery thing,
Of knights, of squyers, chyf lord of toure and towne,
Tyl fykkell Fortune began on hym to frowne:
Paregall to dukes, with kynges he might compare,
Surmountinge in honor al erlis he did excede;
To all countreis aboute hym reporte me I dare;
Lyke to Eneas benigne in worde and dede,
Valiant as Hector in euery marciall nede,
Prouydent,[201] discrete, circumspect, and wyse,
Tyll the chaunce ran agayne hym of Fortunes duble dyse. 140
What nedeth me for to extoll his fame
With my rude pen enkankered all with rust,
Whose noble actes show worshiply his name,
Transendyng far[202] myne homly Muse, that muste
Yet somwhat wright supprised with herty[203] lust,
Truly reportyng his right noble estate,
Immortally whiche is immaculate?
His noble blode neuer destayned was,
Trew to his prince for to defend his ryght,
Doblenes hatyng fals maters to compas, 150
Treytory and treason he banysht out of syght,
With truth to medle was al his holl delyght,
As all his countrey can testyfy the same:
To sle[204] suche a lorde, alas, it was great shame!
If the hole quere of the Musis nyne
In me all onely wer set and comprysed,
Enbrethed with the blast of influence deuyne,
As perfytly as could be thought or deuised;
To me also allthough it were promised
Of laureat Phebus holy the eloquence, 160
All were to lytell for his magnificence.
O yonge lyon, but tender yet of age,
Grow and encrese, remembre thyn estate;
God thé assyst unto thyn herytage,
And geue thé grace to be more fortunate!
Agayn rebellyones arme thé[205] to make
