minstrel: a poem I'd like help with

[Fiona P.]

In a book I bought some time back, I found the following ballad.
Apparently the songs and ballads in this book (Wright, Thomas.  1970
reprint of an 1860 publication.  Songs and ballads with other short poems
chiefly of the reign of Philip and Mary; edited from a manuscript in the
Ashmolean Museum.  Lenox Hill Pub. & Dist. Co.) are transcribed from a
manuscript which records songs and ballads actually performed by travelling
minstrels.  The museum is in Oxford, and the manuscript is marked as MS.
Ashm. No. 48.  Apparently.  (I've sent an email request to the Librarian at
the Ashmolean Museum asking about the MS, but haven't yet received a
reply).

Anyway. There's a very long ballad in this book, which I'd love to perform
or something, but I can't get a handle on the scansion at all.  I know the
rhyme and rhythm in this book, being from stuff composed more or less on
the spot, is pretty strange at times (let's say utterly shonky even more
times), but this has me totally confused.  I'm hoping the good and learned
gentles on this list will be able to separate out how it goes; or tell me
it's written by someone with no respect for scansion and suggest I just
paraphrase it instead ...

I'm sending the first few "verses" - it's not actually divided up - so as
to get a good idea of how it goes.  If anyone would like the full text,
give me some time to type it in (it's long) and I'll send it privately -
unless everyone wants the full version.

Notes:
there are some french acute accented e's in here.  I've marked them e'.
Apparently iij. is shorthand for "three" and I've left it as it in the
book.  Well, it rhymes, anyway.
xvc xxc, (and other roman numerals) are actually the numbers with a
superscript "c".


The Perse' off Northombarlonde and a voew to God mayd he,
That he wold hunte in the mowntayns off Chyviat within days iij.,
In the magger of doughte' Dogles and all that ever with him be;
The fattiste hartes in all Cheviat he sayd he wold kyll and carry them away.
"Be my feth," sayd the dougheti Doglas agayn, "I wyll let that hontyng yf
that I may."
The[n] the Perse' owt off Banboroww cam, with him a myghtee meany,
With xvc archardes bold off blood and bone, the wear chosen owt of shyars iij.
This begane on a Monday at morn, in Cheviat the hillys so he;
The chylde may rue that ys unborn, it was the mor pitte'.
The dryvars throrowe the woodes went for to reas the dear;
Bomen byckarte uppone the bent with ther browd oros cleare;
Greahondes thorowe the grevis glent for to kyll thear dear.
The begane in Chyviat the hyls above yerly on a Monnynday;
Be that it drewe to the oware off none, a hondrith fat hartes ded ther lay.
The blwe a mot uppone the bent, the semblyde on sydis shear,
To the quyrry then the Perse' went to se the bryttlynge off the deare;
He sayd, "it was the Duglas promys this day to met me hear,
But I wyste he wolde faylle verament;" a great ithg the Perse' swear.
At the laste a squyar off Northomberlonde lokyde at his hand full ny,
He was war ath the doughetie Doglas commynge, with him a myghtte' meany,
Both with spear, brylly, and brand, yt was a myghti sight to se;
Hardyar men both off hart nar hande wear not in Christianite'.
The wear xxc spear men goodm withiwte any feale;
The wear borne along be the watter a Twyde yth bowndes of Tividale.
"Leave the brytlynge of the dear," he sayd, " and to your boys lock ye tyke
good hed;
For never sith ye wear on your mothars borne had ye never so mickle ned."
The dougheti Dogglas on a stede he rode all his men beforne;
His armor glytteryde as dyd a glede, a boldar barne was never born.



I admit to stopping there more because I wanted to include that lovely
alliteration in the last line than any sense of ending, but the only rhythm
I can see has two rhyming, scanning lines as a beginning, and the two lines
following follow that "sense", so it seemed as good a place as any.

Suggestions, anyone?  I think I got all the spellings (inconsitencies and
all) correct; please let me know if you think there are any glaring errors.

... Macneil of Barra ...



	   @>-'--,--        --'--,-<@


Though Love and all his pleasure are but toyes,
They shorten tedious nights.

		-- Thomas Campian (1567 - 1620)



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