"He sent me to schools, and I wadna learn; 95 He gae me books, and I wadna read; Sae my father's blessing I'll never earn, Till he see how my arm can guard my head." "O God forbid, my billie dear, That ever such a thing suld be! 100 We'll take three men on either side, And see if we can our fathers agree." "O hald thy tongue, now, billie Bewick, And of thy talking let me be! But if thou'rt a man, as I'm sure thou art, 105 Come o'er the dyke, and fight wi' me." "But I hae nae harness, billie, on my back,[L107] As weel I see there is on thine."-- "But as little harness as is on thy back, As little, billie, shall be on mine."-- 110 Then he's thrown aff his coat o' mail, His cap of steel away flung he; He stuck his spear into the ground, And he tied his horse unto a tree. Then Bewick has thrown aff his cloak, 115 And's psalter-book frae's hand flung he; He laid his hand upon the dyke, And ower he lap most manfullie. O they hae fought for twae lang hours; When twae lang hours were come and gane, 120 The sweat drapp'd fast frae aff them baith, But a drap of blude could not be seen. Till Græme gae Bewick an ackward stroke, Ane ackward stroke strucken sickerlie; He has hit him under the left breast, 125 And dead-wounded to the ground fell he. "Rise up, rise up, now, billie dear, Arise and speak three words to me! Whether thou's gotten thy deadly wound, Or if God and good leeching may succour thee?" 130 "O horse, O horse, now, billie Græme, And get thee far from hence with speed; And get thee out of this country, That none may know who has done the deed."-- "O I have slain thee, billie Bewick, 135 If this be true thou tellest to me; But I made a vow, ere I came frae hame, That aye the next man I wad be." He has pitch'd his sword in a moodie-hill, And he has leap'd twenty lang feet and three, 140 And on his ain sword's point he lap, And dead upon the ground fell he. 'Twas then came up Sir Robert Bewick, And his brave son alive saw he; "Rise up, rise up, my son," he said, 145 "For I think ye hae gotten the victorie." "O hald your tongue, my father dear, Of your prideful talking let me be! Ye might hae drunken your wine in peace, And let me and my billie be. 150 "Gae dig a grave, baith wide and deep, And a grave to hald baith him and me; But lay Christie Græme on the sunny side, For I'm sure he wan the victorie."