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180

Quhen bows were bent and darts were thrawn,

For thrang scarce could they fie,
The darts clove arrows as they met,

The arrows dart the trie.
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.

185

The king of Scots, that findle bruikd

The war that luikt lyke play,
Drew his braid sword, and brake his bow,

Sen bows seimt but delay.
Quoth noble Rothsay, “Myşe i'll keip,

I wate its bleid a kore."
Haft up my merry men, cryd the king,

As he rade on before,

190

195

The king of Norse he focht to find,

With him to mense the faucht,
Buton his forehead there did licht

A Marp unfonfie shaft;
As he his hand put up to find

The wound, an arrow kene,
O waefou chance! there pinnd his land

In midft betwene his ene.

200

Revenge,

" Revenge, revenge, cryd Rothsays heir,

Your mail-coat fall nocht byde
The strength and sharpness of my dart :”

Then sent it thruch his fyde.
Another arrow well he markd,

It persit his neck in twa,
His hands then quat the filver reins,

He law as eard did fa.

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210

"Sair bleids my liege, fair, fair he bleids !"

Again with micht he drew
And gesture dreid his sturdy bow,
Faft the braid arrow!!

flew : Wae to the knicht he ettled at,

Lament now quene Elgreid,
Hie dames to' wail zour darlings fall,

His zouth and comely meid.

215

« Take aff, take aff his coftly jupe

(Of gold weil was it twynd,
Knit lyke the fowlers net throuch quhilk

His steilly harness fhynd)
Take, Norse, that gift frae me, and bid

Him venge the blude it beirs ;
Say, if he face my bended bow,

He sure nae weapon feirs.”

220

VOL, II,

H

Proud

225

Proud Norfe with giant body tall,

Braid shoulder and arms strong,
Cryd, “Quhair is Hardyknute fae famd,

And feird at Britains throne :
Thah Britons tremble at his name,

I fune fall make him wail,
That eir my sword was made fac sharp,

Sae faft his coat of mail."

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235

That brag his stout heart could na byde,

It lent him zouthfou micht: I'm Hardyknute this day, he cryd,

To Scotlands king I hecht,
To lay thee law, as horses hufe,

My word I mean to keip."
Syne with the first strake eir he strake,

He garrd his body bleid.

240

Norfe ene lyke gray gosehawke ftaird wyld,

He ficht with shame and spyte; “ Difgrac'd is now my far-famd arm

That left thee power to ftryke :" Then gaif his head a blaw sae fell,

It made him doun to stoup, As law as he to ladies ufit

In courtly gyfe to lout,

Full

2

250

Full fune he raisd his bent body,

His bow he marvelld fair,
Sen blaws till then on him but darrd

As touch of Fairly fair :
Norse ferliet too as fair as he

To se his stately luke,
Sae sune as eir he strake a fae,

Sae sune his lyfe he tuke.

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260

Quhair lyke a fyre to hether fet,

Bauld Thomas did advance,
Afturdy fae with luke enrag'd

Up towards him did prance;
He spurd his fteid throw thickest ranks

The hardy zouth to quell,
Quha ftude unmufit at his approach

His furie to repell.

“ That schort brown shaft fae meanly trimd, 265

Lukis lyke poor Scotlands geir, But dreidfull seims the rusty poyat!”

And loud he leuch in jeir. “ Aft Britons blude has dimd its syne ;

This poynt cut short their vaunt :" Syne piercd the boisteris bairded cheik,

Nae týme he tuke to taunt.

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275

Schort quhyie he in his fadill fwang,

His ftirrup was nae ftay,
Sae feible hang his unbent knee

Sure taken he was fey:
Swith on the hardened clay he fell,

Richt far was heard the thud;
But Thomas luikt not as he lay

All waltering in his blude.

289

With cairles gesture, mynd unmuvit,

On raid he north the plain ;
His feim in thrang of fierceft ftryfe,

Quhen Winner ay the fame;
Nor zit his heart dames dimpelit cheik,

Coud meise faft love to bruik,
Till vengeful Ann returnd his fcorn,

Then languid grew his luke.

28;

296

In thrawis of death, with wallowit cheik

All panting on the plain,
The fainting corps of warriours lay,
- Neir to aryse again ;
Neir to return to native land,

Nae mair with blythsom sounds
To boist the glories of the day,

And schaw chair Ihyning wounds.

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