Their bodies, bath'd in purple blood,

They bore with them away;

They kiss'd them dead a thousand times, When they were clad in clay.

This news was brought to Edinburgh,
Where Scotlands king did reign,
That brave earl Douglas fuddenly
Was with an arrow flain.

O heavy news, king James did fay,
Scotland can witness be,

I have not any captain more
Of fuch account as he.

Like tidings to king Henry came,

Within as short a space,

That Percy of Northumberland
Was flain in Chevy-chafe.

Now God be with him, faid our king,
Sith 'twill no better be;

I truft I have within my realm,
Five hundred as good as he.

Yet fhall not Scot nor Scotland fay,

But I will vengeance take;

And be revenged on them all,

For brave lord Percys fake.

This vow full well the king perform'd,

After, on Humbledown;

In one day, fifty knights were flain,
With lords of great renown;

And of the reft, of fmall account,
Did many hundreds die.

Thus ended the hunting of Chevy-chase,
Made by the earl Percy.

God fave the king, and bless the land
In plenty, joy, and peace;
And grant, henceforth, that foul debate
'Twixt noblemen may cease.

IN PART II.

BY HARRY CAREY.*

NUPID no more fshall give me grief,

CUPE

Or anxious cares opprefs my foul;
While gen'rous Bacchus brings relief,
And drowns 'em in a flowing bowl.

Calia, thy fcorn I now despise,

Thy boasted empire I disown;
This takes the brightness from thy eyes,
And makes it fparkle in my own.

Who intitles it " A Dithyrambick for two voices."

1

OW stands the glass around?

H%

For fhame, ye take no care, my boys!

How stands the glass around?

Let mirth and wine abound!

The trumpets found:

The colours flying are, my boys, To fight, kill, or wound:

May we ftill be found

Content with our hard fare, my boys,

On the cold ground.

Why, foldiers, why

Should we be melancholy, boys!

Why, foldiers, why?

Whose business 'tis to die?

What! fighing? fie!

Damn fear, drink on, be jolly, boys!

"Tis he, you, and I.

Cold, hot, wet, or dry,

We're always bound to follow, boys,

And fcorn to fly.

'Tis but in vain,

(I mean not to upbraid you, boys)

"Tis but in vain

For foldiers to complain :

Should next campaign

Send us to Him that made you, boys,

We're free from pain;

But fhould we remain,

A bottle and kind landlady Cures all again.