‘Now, in good sooth,’ Lord Marmion cried, ‘Were I in warlike wise to ride, A better guard I would not lack, Than your stout forayers at my back;But as in form of peace I go, A friendly messenger, to know, Why through all Scotland, near and far, Their King is mustering troops for war,The sight of plundering Border spears Might justify suspicious fears, And deadly feud, or thirst of spoil, Break out in some unseemly broil:A herald were my fitting guide; Or friar, sworn in peace to bide; Or pardoner, or travelling priest, Or strolling pilgrim, at the least.’
XXI.
The Captain mused a little space, And pass’d his hand across his face. -’Fain would I find the guide you want, But ill may spare a pursuivant,The only men that safe can ride Mine errands on the Scottish side: And though a bishop built this fort, Few holy brethren here resort;Even our good chaplain, as I ween, Since our last siege, we have not seen: The mass he might not sing or say, Upon one stinted meal a-day;So, safe he sat in Durham aisle, And pray’d for our success the while. Our Norham vicar, woe betide, Is all too well in case to ride;The priest of Shoreswood-he could rein The wildest war-horse in your train; But then, no spearman in the hall Will sooner swear, or stab, or brawl.Friar John of Tillmouth were the man: A blithesome brother at the can, A welcome guest in hall and bower, He knows each castle, town, and tower,In which the wine and ale is good, ‘Twixt Newcastle and Holy-Rood. But that good man, as ill befalls, Hath seldom left our castle walls,Since, on the vigil of St. Bede, In evil hour, he cross’d the Tweed, To teach Dame Alison her creed. Old Bughtrig found him with his wife; And John, an enemy to strife, Sans frock and hood, fled for his life.The jealous churl hath deeply swore, That, if again he venture o’er, He shall shrieve penitent no more. Little he loves such risks, I know; Yet, in your guard, perchance will go.’
