Their songs were Ave Maries, Or gone beyond the seas; Or else they take their ease. A tell-tale in their company Their mirth, was punish'd sure : Now they have left their quarters ; Who can preserve their charters; A man both wise and grave. Are kept in store; con twenty thanks I marvel who his cloak would turn,* Or where those walking fires would burn *The belief that the turning of the cloak or glove, or any garment, solved the benighted traveller from the spell of the fairies, is alluded to in Corbet's 'Iter Boreale,' and is still retained in some of the western counties. Gilchrist. How Broker would appear to be, To William Chourne of Staffordshire, To William all give audience, And pray ye for his noddle: For all the fairies' evidence Were lost, if that were addle. BALLAD XXVIII. ON THE DEATH OF SIMON DE MONTFORT, Earl of LEICESTER, AT THE BATTLE OF EVESHAM, 1266. (Literally versified from the Norman-French) BY WALTER SCOTT, ESQ.* In woeful wise my song shall rise, My heart impells the strain; Tears fit the song, which tells the wrong Of gentle Barons slayn. * [This version was made at the desire of Mr. Ritson, for a projected reprint of his 'Ancient Songs from the time of King Henry the Third to the Revolution;' the new materials for which all perished except this relique, which its highly esteemed Translator has permitted in the most friendly, and therefore flattering manner, to appear in the present publication. The Norman-French original, which ought to have accompanied this ballad, cannot now be retraced.] CHORUS. Now lowly lies the flower of pries, * Fayr peace to gaine they fought in vayn, And limb and life to butcheryng knyfe, Our native land to save. Erle Montfort's scathe, and heavy death, As I here say, upon Tuesdaye The battle bold was done; Each mounted knight there fell in fight, For ayd of foot was none : There wounds were felt, and blows were dealt With brands that burnish'd be ; Sir Edward stoute, his numerous route Have won the maisterie. Now lowly lies, &c. But, though he died, on Montfort's side Like Becket's fayth, the Erle's in deathe That holy Saint would never graunt And like him dauntless dyed. Now lowly lies, &c. The bold Sir Hugh Despencer true, The kingdom's Justice he, And Sir Henry, the son was he With many moe, as ye shall know, Fell by Erle Gloster's sword. Now lowly lies, &c He that dares dye, in standing by To save the poor from wrong, God speed his end, the poor man's friend, For suche we pray, and long! Now lowly lies, &c. His bosom nere, a treasure dere, To wield his sword and keep his worde Now lowly lies, &c. Pray, as is meet, my brethren sweet, The maiden Mary's Son, The infant fair, our noble heir, In grace to guide him on. I will not name the habit's* claym, But for Jesus' love, that sits above, For churchmen ever pray. Now lowly lies, &c. Seek not to see, of chivalrye Each gallant knight, and squire of might, They all are bought and sold; For loyaltie and veritie, They now are done awaye― The losel vile may reign by guile, The fool by his foleye. Now lowly lies, &c. Sir Simon wight, that gallant knight, To heaven above, and joye and love, May He on rood who bought our good, Now lowly lies the flower of pries, * The clerical habit is obviously alluded to; and it seems to be cautiously and obscurely hinted, that the church was endangered by the defeat of De Montfort. |