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Good Sir Ralph Raby there was ſlain,
whoſe proweſs did ſurmount.
For Withrington I needs muſt wail,
as one in doleful dumps,
For when his legs were ſmitten off,
he fought upon his ſtumps!
And with Earl Douglas there was ſlain
Sir Hugh Montgomery,
Sir Charles Murray, that from the field
one foot would never fly.
Sir Charles Murray of Ratcliff too,
his ſiſter's ſon was he;
Sir David Lamb, ſo well oſteem'd,
yet ſaved could not be.
And the Lord Maxwell, in likewiſe,
did with Earl Douglas die.
Of fifteen hundred Scottiſh ſpears
went home but fifty-three.
Of twenty hundred Engliſh men
ſcarce fifty-five did flee;
The reſt were ſlain at Chevychaſe,
under the green-wood tree.
Next day did many widows come,
their huſbands to bewail;
They waſh'd their wounds in briniſh tears,
great ſorrow did prevail.
Their bodies, bath'd in purple blood,
they carry'd them away;
They kiſs'd them, dead, a thouſand times,
