Thorow rich mail and maniple, Many sterne the stroke down straight; Many a freyke that was full free, There under foot did light. (_basnets_, helmets. _light,_ alight. _sterne_, drove. _freyke_, warrior. _free_, noble.) At last the Douglas and the Perse met, Like to captains of might and of main; They swept together till they both swat, With swords that were of fine myllàn. These worthè freykes for to fight, There-to they were full fain, Till the blood out of their basnets sprent, As ever did hail or rain. "Yield thee, Perse," said the Douglas, "And i' faith I shall thee bring Where thou shalt have an earl's wages Of Jamy our Scottish king. "Thou shalt have thy ransom free, I hight thee here this thing, For the manfullest man yet art thou, That ever I conquered in field fighting." "Nay," said the lord Perse, "I told it thee beforne, That I would never yielded be To no man of a woman born." With that there cam an arrow hastely, Forth of a mighty wane; It hath striken the earl Douglas In at the breast bane. (_myllan_, steel, _sprent_, spurted, _hight,_ promise, _wune_, crowd (?)) Thorow liver and lungs, baith The sharp arrow is gane, That never after in all his life-days, He spake mo words but ane: That was, "Fight ye, my merry men, whiles ye may, For my life-days ben gane." The Perse leaned on his brand, And saw the Douglas dee; He took the dead man by the hand, And said, "Woe is me for thee! "To have saved thy life, I would have parted with My landes for years three, For a better man, of heart nor of hand, Was not in all the north contre." Of all that see a Scottish knight, Was called Sir Hew the Monggombyrry; He saw the Douglas to the death was dight, He spended a spear, a trusty tree:-- He rode upon a courser Through a hundrith archery: He never stinted, nor never blane, Till he came to the good lord Perse. (_dight_, disposed of, __spended, grasped. _blane_. stopped.) He set upon the lord Perse A dint that was full sore; With a sure spear of a mighty tree Clean thorow the body he the Persè bare, A'the tother side that a man might see A large cloth yard and mair: Two better captains were not in Christiantè, Than that day slain were there. An archer of Northumberland Sae slain was the lord Persè; He bare a bend-bow in his hand, Was made of trusty tree. An arrow, that a cloth yard was lang, To th' hard steel haled he; A dint that was both sad and sore, He set on Sir Hewe the Monggomberry. The dint it was both sad and sore, That he of Monggomberry set; The swan-feathers, that his arrow bore, With his heart-blood they were wet. There was never a freyke one foot would flee, But still in stour did stand, Hewing on each other, while they might dree,