JOHNNY ARMSTRONGs last Goodnight,
Declaring how he and his Eight-score Men, fought a
bloody Battle with the Scottish King at Edingburgh.
|
IS there never a man in all Scotland,
|
From the highest estate, to the lowest degree,
|
That can shew himself before the King,
|
Scotland is so full of treachery?
|
Yes, there is a man in Westmoreland,
|
Johnny Armstrong they do him call,
|
He hath no lands, nor rents coming in,
|
Yet he keeps eightscore men within his hall.
|
He has horse and harness for them all,
|
With goodly steeds that are milk white,
|
With their goodly belts about their necks,
|
With hats and feathers all alike.
|
The King he writes a loving letter,
|
And with his own hand so tenderly,
|
And hath sent it unto Johnny Armstrong,
|
To come and speak with him speedily;
|
When Johnny lookd the letter upon,
|
Good faith, he lookd as blith as a bird on a tree,
|
I never was before a King in my life,
|
My father, grandfather, nor none of us three.
|
But seeing we must go before the King,
|
Lord, we will go most gallantly.
|
Ye shall every one have a velvet coat,
|
Laid down with golden laces three,
|
And ye shall have every one a scarlet cloak,
|
Laid down with silver lace fine,
|
With your golden belts about your necks,
|
With hats and feathers all alike.
|
But when Johnny went from Guiltnock-Hall,
|
The wind blew hard, and full fast it did rain,
|
Now fare thee well thou Guiltnock-Hall,
|
I fear I shall never see thee again.
|
Now Johnny is to Edinburgh gone,
|
With his eightscore men so gallantly,
|
And every one of them on a milk white steed,
|
Their swords and bucklers hanging at their knees,
|
But when Johnny came the King before,
|
With his eightscore men so gallant to see,
|
The King movd his bonnet to him,
|
He thought he had been a King as well as he,
|
O! pardon, O! pardon, my sovereign liege,
|
A pardon for my eightscore men and me;
|
For my name it is Johnny Armstrong,
|
A subject of yours, my liege said he.
|
Away with thee, thou false traitor,
|
No pardon Ill grant to thee,
|
But to morrow morning by eight of the clock,
|
I will hang up thy eightscore men and thee.
|
Then Johnny lookd over his left shoulder;
|
And to his merry men, thus said he,
|
I have askd grace of a graceless face,
|
No pardon there is for you or me.
|
Then Johnny pulld out his nut brown sword,
|
And it was made of metal free,
|
Had not the king movd his foot as he did,
|
Johnny had taken his head from his fair body.
|
Come follow me, my merry men all,
|
We will scorn one foot for to fly;
|
It shall neer be said we were hanged like dogs,
|
We will fight it out manfully
|
Then they fought on like champions bold,
|
For their hearts were sturdy, stout, and free,
|
Till they had killd all the Kings good guards;
|
There were none left, but two or three.
|
But then rose up all Edinburgh;
|
They rose up by thousands three,
|
A cowardly scot came Johnny behind,
|
And run him through the fair body.
|
Said Johnny fight on my merry men all,
|
I am a little wounded but am not slain,
|
I will lay me down to bleed a while,
|
And rise and fight with you again.
|
Then they fought on like mad men all,
|
Till many a man lay dead on the plain;
|
For they were resolvd before they would yield,
|
Every man should there be slain
|
So there thy fought on most couragiously
|
Till most of them lay dead there, and slain.
|
But little Musgrave, that was his foot page,
|
With his bonny grizzel got away untaen.
|
But when he came to Guiltnock Hall,
|
The lady spyd him presently,
|
What news? what news? thou little foot page,
|
What news from thy master and his company?
|
My news is bad Lady he said,
|
Which I do bring, as you may see:
|
My master, Johnny Armstrong, is slain,
|
And all his gallant company
|
But thou art welcome home my bonny Grizzel,
|
Full oft has thou been fed with corn and hay,
|
But now thou shalt be fed with bread and wine,
|
Thy sides shall be spurrd no more I say.
|
O then bespoke his little son,
|
As he sat on his nurses knee,
|
If ever I come to be a man,
|
My fathers death revengd shall be.
|
|
|
|
|
|