JOHNNY ARMSTRONGs last Goodnight:
Declaring how John Armstrong and his Eightscore Men, fought a bloody Battle with the
Scotch King at Edenborough. To a pretty Northern Tune.
Licensed and Entered according to Order.
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IS there never a Man in all Scotland,
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from the highest estate to the lowest degree,
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That can shew himself now before the King,
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Scotland is so full of treachery?
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Yes, there is a Man in Westmoreland,
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and Johnny Armstrong they do him call,
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He has no lands nor rents coming in,
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yet he keeps eightscore Men within his hall.
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He has horses and harness for them all,
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and gooly steeds that be milk-white,
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With their goodly belts about their necks,
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with 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 Johnny Armstrong,
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to come and speak with him speedily.
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When John he looked this letter upon,
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good Lord, he lookt as blith as a bird in a tree,
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I was never before a King in my life,
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my Father, my Grandfather, 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 golden laces three.
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And ye shall every one have a scarlet cloak
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laid down with silver laces five,
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With your golden belts about your necks,
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with hats and feathers all alike.
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But when John he went from Gil[t]knock hall,
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the wind it blew hard, and full fast it did rain,
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Now fare thee well, thou Giltknock-hall,
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I fear I shall never see thee again.
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Now Johnny is to Edinborough gone,
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with his eightscore Men so gallantly,
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And every one of them on a milk-white steed,
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with their bucklers and swords hanging to their knee.
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But when John came the King before,
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with his eightscore Men so gallant to see,
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The King he mov'd his bonnet to him,
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he thought he had been a King as well as he.
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O pardon, pardon, my Soveraign Leige,
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pardon for my eightscore Men and me;
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For my name it is Johnny Armstrong,
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and a Subject of yours, my Liege, said he.
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Away with thee thou false Traytor,
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no pardon will I grant to thee,
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But tomorrow morning by eight of the clock,
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I will hang up thy eightscore Men and thee.
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Then Johnny lookt 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 or me.
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Then John pull'd out his good broadsword,
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and it was made of mettle so free,
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Had not the King mov'd his foot as he did,
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John had taken his head from his fair body.
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Come follow me, my merry Men all,
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we will scorn one foot for to flye,
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It shall ne'r be said we were hang'd like dogs,
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we will fight it out so manfully.
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Then they fought on like Champions bold,
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for their hearts were sturdy, stout and free,
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Till they had killed all the King's good Guard,
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there were none left alive but two or thee.
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But then rose up all Edenborough,
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they rose up by thousands three;
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A cowardly Scot came John 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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I am little hurt, but am not slain,
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I will lay me down for to bleed awhile,
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then I'll rise and fight with you again.
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Then they fought on like mad Men all,
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till many a Man lay dead upon the plain,
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For they were resolved before they would yield,
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that every Man would there be slain;
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So there they fought couragiously,
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till most of them lay dead upon the plain:
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But little Musgrove that was his Foot-page,
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with his bony grissel got away untain.
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But when he came to Giltknock-hall,
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the Lady spied him presen[t]ly,
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What news, what news, thou little Foot-page,
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what news from thy Master, and his company?
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My news is bad, Lady, he said,
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which I do bring, as you may see.
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My Master Johnny Armstrong is slain,
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and all his gallant company.
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Yet thou art welcome home my Grissel,
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full oft thou hast been fed with corn and hay,
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But now thou shalt be fed with bread and wine,
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and thy sides shall be spur'd no more, I say.
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O then bespake his little Son,
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as he sat on his Nurse's knee,
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If ever I live to be a Man,
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my Father's death reveng'd shall be.
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