JOHNNY ARMSTRONG's 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.

IS there never a man in all Scotland,
from the highest estate to the lowest degree,
That can shew himself now before the King,
Scotland is so full of treachery?
Yes, there is a man in Westmorland,
and Johnny Armstrong they do him call,
He has no lands nor rents coming in,
yet he keeps eightscore men within his hall.
He has horse and harness for them all,
and godly steeds that be milk-white,
With their godly belts about their necks,
with hats and feathere all alike,
The King 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 John he looked this letter upon,
good Lord he lookt as blith as a bird in a trée
I was never before a King in my life,
my father, my grand-father, nor none of us three:
But seeing we must ge before the King,
Lord, we will goe most gallantly;
Ye shall every one have a velvet-coat
laid down with golden laces three,
And ye shall every one have a scarlet cloak
laid down with silver laces five,
With your golden belts about your necks;
with hats and brave feathers all alike.
But when John he went from Giltknock-hall,
the wind it blew hard, & full fast it did rain,
Now fare thee well thou Giltknock-hall,
I fear I shall never see thee again.
Now Johnny is to Edenborough gone,
with his eightscore men so gallantly,
And every one of them on a milk-white steed,
with their bucklers and swords hanging to their knee.
But when John came the King before,
with his eightscore men so gallant to see,
The King he mov'd his bonnet to him,
he thought he had been a King as well as he.
O pardon, pardon, my Soveraign Leige,
pardon for my eightscore man and me,
For my name it is Johnny Armstrong,
and a subject of yours, my Leige, said he.
Away with thee, thou false traytor,
no pardon will I grant to thee,
But to morrow morning by eight of the clock
I will hang up thy eightscore men and thee.
Then Jonny lookt over his left shoulder,
and to his merry men thus said he;
I have asked grace of a graceless face,
no pardon there is for you or me.
Then John pull'd out his nut-brown sword,
and it was made of mettle so free,
Had not the King mov'd his foot as he did,
John had taken his head from his fair body.
Come follow me my merry men all,
we will scorn one foot for to flye;
It shall ne'v be said we were hung like dogs,
we will fight it out so manfully.
Then they fought on like champions bold,
for their hearts were sturdy, stout and free,
Till they had killed all the King's good guard
there was none left alive but two or three.
But then rose up all Edenboroguh,
they rose up by thousands three,
A cowardly Scot came John behind,
and run him thorow the fair body.
Said John, Fight on my merry men all
I am a little wounded but am not slain,
I will lay me down for to bleed a while,
then I'll rise and fight with you again.
Then they fought on like mad men all,
till many a man lay dead upon the plain,
For they were resolved before they would yeild,
that every man would there be slain:
So there they fought couragiously,
till most of them lay dead there and slain,
But little Musgrove that was his foot-page,
with his bonny grissel got away untain.
But when he came to Guiltknock-hall,
the Lady spied him presently,
A 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.
Yet thou art welcome home my bonny Grissel,
full oft thou hast been fed vvhich corn and hay;
But novv thou shalt be fed vvith bread & vvine,
and thy sides shall be spur'd no more I say.
O then be spake his little son,
as he sat on his Nurses knee;
If ever I live to be a man,
my farther's death-reveng'd shall be.

Printed by and for S. Milbourn, and sold by the Booksellers, of Pye corner and London-bridge.

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