john Arm-strongs last good night. DECLARING How John Arm-strong and his eightscore men, fought a bloody Bout with a Scottish King at Edinburgh.  
To a pretty Northern Tune, called, Far you well guilt Knock-hall.  

 woodcut of an armed gentleman and a lady facing each other IS there never a man in all Scotland  
from the highest state to the lowest degree,  
That can show himself now before the King,  
Scotland is so full of their Traitery?   

Yes, there is a man in Westmoreland,  
and John Arm-strong some 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 goodly stéeds that he milk white,  
With their goodly belts about their necks,  
with hats and feathers all alike.   

The King he writ a lovely letter,  
with his own hand so tenderly,  
And has sent it unto John Arm-strong  
to come and speak with him speedily.   

Whe● John he looked the letter upon,  
than word ●e was as blithe as a bird in a tree,  
I was never before no King in my life,  
my Father, my Grandfather, nor none of us three   

But seeing we must before the King,  
Lord we will go most valiantly,  
You shall every one have a velvet coat,  
laid down with golden laces three;   

And you shall every one have a scarlet cloak,  
laid down with silver lace's ●i●e,  
With your golden belts about your necks,  
with hats, brave feathers all alike,   

But when John he went from guilt Knock-hall,  
the wind it blew hard, and full sore it did rain  
Now far you well brave guilt Knock-hall,  
I fear I shall never see thee again.   

Now john he is to Edinburgh gone,  
and his eightscore men so gallantly,  
And every one of them on a milk-white steed,  
with their bucklers & swords hanging down to the knee   

But when john he came the King before,  
with his eightscore men so gallant to see,  
The King he moved his bonnet to him,  
he thought he had been a King as well as he,   

O pardon, pardon, my Sovereign Liege▪  
pardon for my eightscore men and me▪  
For my name it is john Arm-strong,  
and a subject of yours my Liege said he.   

The second part  
to the same Tune.  
 an army with drummers marches behind a flag, carrying muskets  

AWay with thee thou false Traitor,  
no pardon I will grant to thee,  
But to morrow before eight of the clock,  
I will hang thy eightscore men and thee.   

O how john looked over his left shoulder,  
and to his merry men thus said he,  
I have asked grace of a graceless face,  
no pardon here is for you nor me.   

Then john pulled out a nut-brown sword,  
and it was made of mettle so free,  
Had not the King moved his foot as he did.  
john had taken his head from his body.   

Come follow me my merry men all,  
we will scorn one foot away to fly.  
It never shall be said we were hung like dogs  
no wée'l fight it out most manfully,   

Then they fought on like Champions bold,  
for their hearts was sturdy, stout, and free,  
Till they had killed all the Kings good Guard.  
there was none le●t alive but only three.   

●●t then rise up all Edinburgh,  
they rise up by thousands three,  
Then a cowardly Scot c●me john behind,  
and run him thorough the fair body.   

Said john, fight on my merry m●n all,  
I am a little hurt, but I ●m not slain  
London, 〈◊〉 for Francis Grove on Sow-hill,  
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 on the plain,  
for they were resolved before they would yield,  
that every man would there be slain.   

So there they fought courageously,  
till most of them lay dead there, and slain,  
But little Musgrave that was his foot-page,  
with his bonny griselda got away untain.   

But when he came up to guilt Knock-hall,  
the Lady speed him presently.  
Wh●t news what news thou little Foot-page,  
what news from thy Master & his company?   

My news is b●d, Lady he said,  
which I do bring as you m●y see,  
My Master john Arm-strong he is slain  
and all his gallant company.   

Yet thou art welcome home my bonny Grisel,  
full oft thou hast fed at the corn and hay,  
But now thou shalt be fed with bread and wine  
and thy sides shall be spurred no more I say   

O then bespoke his little Son,  
as he was set on his Nurse's knee,  
If ever I live for to be a man,  
my Father's blood revenged sh●ll be.  
Entered according to Order.    
FINIS.  
T. R.