XVIII. To me nae after day nor nicht, But fune beneath fum draping tree, XIX. Syne he has gane far hynd attowre, Lord CHATTAN claimd the princely maid, XX. Now with his ferfs and stalwart train, He reicht a ryfing heicht, Quhair braid encampit on the dale, Norfs menzie lay in ficht; Zonder my valiant fons and ferss, Our raging revers wait, On the unconquerit Scottish fwaird, XXI. Mak orifons to him that faift Our fauls upon the rude, Syne braifly schaw zour veins ar filld With Caledonian blude. Then furth he drew his trufty glaive, Quhyle thousands all arround, XXII. To join his king adoun the hill In haft his merch he made, Quhyle, playand pibrochs, minftralls meit Thryfe welcome, valziant ftoup of weir, Thy nations scheild and pryde; Thy king nae reafon has to feir Quhen thou art by his fyde. XXIII. Quhen bows were bent and darts were thrawn, The darts clove arrows as they met, Lang did they rage and ficht full ferfs, With little skaith to man, But bludy, bludy was the field, Or that lang day was done. XXIV. The king of Scots that findle bruik'd Drew his braid sword, and brake his bow, Quoth noble ROTHSAY, myne I'll keip, Hast up my merry men, cryd the king, XXV. The king of Norfe he focht to find, As he his hand put up to find The wound, an arrow kene, O waefou chance! there pinnd his hand In midft betwene his ene. XXVI. Revenge, revenge, cryd ROTHSAYS heir, Another arrow weil he markd, His hands then quat the filver reins, XXVII. Sair bleids my liege, fair, fair he bleids. Again with micht he drew And gefture dreid his sturdy bow, Faft the braid arrow flew : Wae to the knicht he ettled at, Lament now quene ELGREID, XXVIII. Take aff, take aff his coftly jupe (Of gold weil was it twynd, Knit lyke the fowlers net throuch quhilk His fteilly harness shynd) Take NORSE, that gift frae me, and bid XXIX. Proud NORSE with giant body tall, I fune fall make him wail, That eir my fword was made fae sharp, Sae faft his coat of mail. XXX. That brag his ftout heart coud na byde. To lay thee low at horfes hufe, My word I mean to keip. Syne with the first strake eir he strake, He garrd his body bleid. XXXI. NORSE ene like gray gofehawks ftaird wyld, In courtly gyfe to lout. XXXII. Full fune he reis'd his bent body, His bow he marvelld fair, Sen blaws till then on him but darrd NORSE ferliet too as fair as he To fe his stately luke, Sae fune as eir he strake a fae, Sae fune his lyfe he tuke. |