I saw a dead man win a fight, And I think that man was I." He belted on his gude braid sword, And to the field he ran; But he forgot the helmet good That shou'd have kept his brain. {156} When Percy with the Douglas met, I wat he was fu' fain! They swakkit swords till sair they swat, And the blood ran down like rain. But Percy, wi' his good braid sword, That could sae sharply wound, Has wounded Douglas on the brow, Till he fell till the ground. Then he call'd on his little foot-page, And said--"Run speedilie, And fetch my ain dear sister's son, Sir Hugh Montgomerie." "My nephew good," the Douglas said. "What recks the death o' ane! Last nicht I dream'd a dreary dream, And I ken the day's thy ain. "My wound is deep; I fain would sleep; Take thou the vanguard of the three, And hide me by the bracken bush That grows on yonder lily lee. "O, bury me by the bracken bush, Beneath the blooming brier; Let never living mortal ken That a kindly Scot lies here." He lifted up that noble lord, With the saut tear in his ee; He hid him in the bracken bush, That his merrie men might not see. The moon was clear, the day drew near, The spears in flinders flew But mony a gallant Englishman Ere day the Scotsmen slew. The Gordon's gude, in English bluid They steep'd their hose and shoon; The Lindsays flew like fire about, Till a' the fray was dune. {157} The Percy and Montgomerie met, That either of other was fain; They swakkit swords, and they twa swat, And aye the bluid ran down between. "Now yield thee, yield thee, Percy," he said, "Or else I vow I'll lay thee low!" "To whom must I yield," quoth Earl Percy, "Sin' I see that it maun be so?" "Thou shall not yield to lord or loun, Nor yet shalt thou yield to me; But yield ye to the brarken bush That grows upon yon lilye lee!" "I will not yield to a bracken bush, Nor yet will I yield to a brier; But I would yield to Earl Douglas, Or Sir Hugh Montgomerie if he were here."