The Yngglyshe men hade ther bowys yebent, Ther hartes were good yenoughe; The first off arros that the shote off, Seven skore spear-men the sloughe. Yet byddys the yerle Doglas uppon the bent, A captayne good yenoughe, And that was sene verament, For he wrought hom both woo and wouche. The Dogglas pertyd his ost in thre, Lyk a cheffe cheften off pryde, With suar speares off myghttè tre, The cum in on every syde: Thrughe our Yngglishe archery Gave many a wounde full wyde; Many a doughete the garde to dy, Which ganyde them no pryde. The Yngglyshe men let thear bowys be, And pulde owt brandes that wer bright; It was a hevy syght to se Bryght swordes on basnites lyght. Throrowe ryche male and myneyeple, Many sterne the stroke downe streght; Many a freyke, that was full fre, Ther undar foot dyd lyght. At last the Duglas and the Persè met, Lyk to captayns of myght and of mayne; The swapte togethar tyll the both swat, With swordes that wear of fyn myllàn, Thes worthè freckys for to fyght, Ther-to the wear full fayne, Tyll the bloode owte off thear basnetes sprente, As ever dyd heal or rayne. "Holde the, Persè," sayd the Doglas, "And i' feth I shall the brynge Wher thowe shalte have a yerls wagis Of Jamy our Scottish kynge. "Thoue shalte have thy ranson fre, I hight the hear this thinge, For the manfullyste man yet art thowe, That ever I conqueryd in filde fightyng." "Nay," sayd the lord Persè, "I tolde it the beforne, That I wolde never yeldyde be To no man of woman born." With that ther cam an arrowe hastely Forthe off a myghtte wane; Hit hathe strekene the yerle Duglas In at the brest bane. Thoroue lyvar and longs bathe The sharp arrowe ys gane, That never after in all his lyffe-days, He spayke mo wordes but ane: That was, "Fyghte ye, my merry men, whyllys ye may, For my lyff-days ben gan." The Persè leanyde on his brande, And sawe the Duglas de; He tooke the dede man be the hande, And sayd, "Wo ys me for the! "To have savyde thy lyffe I wolde have pertyde with My landes for years thre, For a better man, of hart nare of hande, Was not in all the north contrè." Off all that se a Skottishe knyght, Was callyd Sir Hewe the Mongonbyrry; He sawe the Duglas to the deth was dyght, He spendyd a spear, a trust! tre:-- He rod uppon a corsiare Throughe a hondrith archery: He never styntyde, nar never blane, Tyll he cam to the good lord Persè. He set uppone the lord Persè A dynte that was full soare; With a suar spear of a myghttè tre Clean thorow the body he the Persè bore, A' the tother syde that a man myght se A large cloth yard and mare: Towe bettar captayns wear nat in Christiantè, Then that day slain wear ther. An archar off Northomberlonde Say slean was the lord Persè; He bar a bende-bowe in his hande, Was made off trusti tre.