The last Good Night of the Valiant
JOHNNY ARMSTRONG:
SHEWING,
How Johnny Armstrong, and his Eight-score Men fought a
desperate and bloody Battle with the Scottish King at
Edinburgh City: And how he and all his Valiant Men
were slain.
To an Excellent North Country Tune.
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IS there never a Man in all Scotland,
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From the highest rank to the lowest degree,
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That can shew himself before the King,
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Scotlands so full of treachery?
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Yes theres a man in Westmorland,
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And Johnny Armstrong they do him call;
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He hath no lands nor rents at all,
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Yet he keeps eight-score men within his hall.
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He has horse and harness for them all,
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And goodly steeds that be milk-white;
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With golden belts about their necks,
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And hats and feathers all alike.
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The King he writes a loving letter,
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And with his own hand so tenderly;
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And hath sent it unto John Armstrong,
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To come and speak with him speedily.
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When Johnny lookd the letter upon,
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Good Lord he lookd as blythe as a bird on a tree;
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I was never before a King in my life,
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My Grandfather, Father, nor none of us three.
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But seeing we must go before The King,
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Lord! we will go most gallantly,
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Ye shall every one have a velvet coat,
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Laid down with gold laces three.
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And you shall evry one have a scarlet cloak,
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Laid down with silver laces five:
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With golden belts about your necks,
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Your hats and feathers all alike.
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But when Johnny went from Guiltnock-Hall,
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The wind blew hard, and full fare it did rain;
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Now fare thou well thou Guiltnock-hall,
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I fear I shall neer see thee again.
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Now Johnny is to Edinburgh gone,
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With his eight-score Men so gallantly:
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And every one on a milk-white stead,
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With sword and buckler by his knee.
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But when John came the King before,
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With his eight-score men so gallantly to see:
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The King moved his bonnet to him,
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And thought him a King as well as he.
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O pardon! O pardon! my Sovreign Liege,
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O pardon my eight-score men and me,
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For my name it is Johnny Armstrong,
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A Subject of yours, my Liege, said he.
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Away with thee thou false traitor,
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No Pardon I will grant thee:
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But to-morrow morning by eight oclock,
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Ill hang up thy eight-score men and thee;
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Then John lookd over his left Shoulder,
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And to his merry men thus said he:
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I have asked Grace of a graceless face,
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No pardon there is for you and me.
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Then John pulld out his nut brown sword,
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Which was made of metal so free:
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Had not the King movd his foot as he did,
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John had taken his head from his body.
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Come follow me my merry men all,
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We will scorn one foot for to fly:
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It shant be said we were hanged like dogs,
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We will fight it out most manfully.
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Then they fought on like champions bold,
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Their hearts were sturdy stout and free,
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Till they killed the Kings life-guard,
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There were none left but two or three:
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But then arose up all Edinburgh city,
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And they arose up by thousands three:
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A cowardly Scot came Johnny behind,
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And run him through the fair body.
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Said John, fight on my merry men all,
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Im a little wounded but am not slain;
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I will lay me down to bleed a while,
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And rise to fight with you again.
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Then they fought on like madmen all,
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Till many a man lay dead on the plain:
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They were resolvd before they would yield,
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That evry man should there be slain
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So they fought on most couragiously,
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Till most of them lay dead and slain:
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But little Musgrove, who was his foot-page,
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With bonny Grizel got away untaen.
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And when he came unto Guiltnock-hall,
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The Lady espyd him presently:
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What news what news thou bonny foot-page,
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What news from thy master and his company.
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My news is bad, fair Lady, he said,
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Which I do bring, as you may see,
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My master Johnny Armstrong he is slain,
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And all his brave gallant company.
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Thou art welcome home my bonny Grizel,
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Full oft thous been with corn and hay:
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But now thoull be fed with bread and wine,
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Thy sides shall be spurrd no more, I say.
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O then spoke out his little pretty son,
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As he sat on his nurses knee;
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If ever I shall live to be a man,
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My Fathers death shall revenged be.
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