History of the family of Seton during eight centuries > Volume 2

BELEAGUERING OF BERWICKE 937
He 's cast him doun upon a stool,
Sae doure and grym his woe,
The blood sprang frae his lips sae whyte,
As he rockit to and fro.
Fytte Second.
' King Edward he had mynstrels fyve,
And they sung a' each their sang ;
When he soddenle strak the buird wi' his fist,
That the Chrystalrie all rang.
' Gae up intill that auld traytor,
That dwells in yon bear march toun ;
Tell him, I redde he tent my words,
Or ere the nicht be dune.
' Lorde Percy this shalt thou tell this carle,
I hold his sonnes in fee,
And if he disna yield the morn,
Hangit they baith sail be.'
Lorde Percy he rose frae the buird,
And to Berwicke bent his waye :
' My feyther's sonne never so base an errand,
Before this nicht did gae.'
He chappit upon the brigs middle yett,
' I come wi' a worde o' grace,
Sae tak me to your Governor,
For I maun see his face.'
They blynded his e'en as they gaed up the bank,
And alang the Berwicke wa' ;
Syne o'er the drawbridge abune the ditch,
And into the castle's ha'.
They lifted the bendish frae his e'en,
In the banquet ha' sae high ;
' Lord Seton I come to save your sonnes,
Or surely maun they die.
' Gin ye yield no the Berwicke keys,
Kyng Edward he has sworn,
By Chryst his rood to hang them baith,
As falls the coming morn.'
Seton he gaspit and he girned,
And shewed his teeth sae whyte,
His e'en were glaikit like a man's
That 's strycken wi' affryghte.
Quo he, ' Lorde Percy, dinna thynk
I speak your lugs to blaw ;
But let him spare my twa brave sonnes
And at his feet I '11 fa'.
6C