“Out off thair sycht, in till a forest syd, He sat him doun wndyr ane ayk to bid; His bow and suerd he lenyt till a tre, In angwyss greiff, on grouff so turned he. His petows mynd was for his men so wrocht, That off him selff litill as than he roucht. ‘O wrech!’ he said, ‘that neuir couth be content Off our gret mycht that the gret God the lent: Bot thi fers mynd, wylfull and wariable, With gret lordschip thow coud nocht so byd stable; And wylfull witt, for to mak Scotland fre; God likis nocht that I haiff tane on me. Fer worthyar of byrth than I was born, Throuch my desyr wyth hungyr ar forlorn: I ask at God thaim to restor agayn; I am the causs, I suld haiff all the pain.’ Quhill studeand thus, whill flitand with him sell, Quhill at the last apon slepyng he fell. Thre days befor thar had him folowed fyve, The quhilk was bound, or ellis to loss thair lyff: The erl off York bad thaim so gret gardoun, At thai be thyft hecht to put Wallace doun. Thre off thaim was all born men off Ingland, And twa was Scottis, that tuk this deid on hand; And sum men said, thar thrid brothir betraissed Kyldromé eft, quhar gret sorow was raissed. A child thai had, qubilk helpyit to ber mett In wildernes amang thai montans grett. Thai had all seyn disseuyring off Wallace Fra his gud men, and quhar he baid on cace; Amang thyk wod in cowert held thaim law, Quhill thai persawyt he couth on sleping faw. And than thir fyve approchit Wallace neir; Quhat best to do, at othir can thai speir. A man said thus: ‘It war a hie renoun, And we mycht qwyk leid him to Sanct Jhonstoun, Lo, how he lyis; we may our grippis waill; Off his wapynnys he sal get nane awaill. We sall him bynd in contrar off hys will, And leid him thus on baksyd off yon hill, So that his men sall nothing off him knaw.’ The tothir thre assentit till his saw; And than thir fyve thus maid thaim to Wallace, And thocht throw force to bynd him in that place. Quhat, trowit thir fyve for to hald Wallace doun? The manlyast man, the starkest off persoun, Leyffand he was; and als stud in sic rycht, We traist weill, God his dedis had in sycht. Thai grippyt him, than out off slepe he braid; ‘Quhat menys this? rycht sodandly he said, About he turnyt, and wp his armys thrang; On thai traytouris with knychtlik fer he dang. The starkast man in till his armys hynt he, And all his harnys he dang out on a tree. A sword he gat son efter at he rayss, Campiounlik amang the four he gais; Euyr a man he gert de at a dynt. Quhen twa was ded, the tothir wald nocht stynt; Maid thaim to fle; bot than it was na but, Was nane leyffand mycht pass fra him on fut. He folowed fast, and sone to ded thaim brocht; Than to the chyld sadly agayn he socht,