"God have merci on his soil," sayd kyng Harry,
"Good lord, yf thy will it be!
I have a hondrith captayns in Ynglonde," he sayd,
"As good as ever was hee:
But PersA", and I brook my lyffe,
Thy deth well quyte shall be."

As our noble kyng mayd his a-vowe,
Lyke a noble prince of renowen,
For the deth of the lord PersA"
He dyde the battell of Hombyll-down:

Wher syx and thrittA" Skottishe knyghtes
On a day wear beaten down;
Glendale glytteryde on ther armor bryght,
Over castill, towar, and town.

This was the Hontynge off the Cheviat;
That tear begane this spurn:
Old men that knowen the grownde well yenoughe,
Call it the Battell of Otterburn.

At Otterburn began this spurne
Uppon a monnynday:
Ther was the dougghtA" Doglas slean,
The PersA" never went away.

Ther was never a tym on the March partes
Sen the Doglas and the PersA" met,