And sword and buckler by his side; O gin he did not become them weel! We'll leave off talking of Christie Græme, And talk of him again belive; And we will talk of bonny Bewick, Where he was teaching his scholars five. When he had taught them well to fence, And handle swords without any doubt, He took his sword under his arm, And he walk'd his father's close about. He look'd atween him and the sun, And a' to see what there might be, Till he spied a man in armour bright, Was riding that way most hastily. (_jacky_ coat of mail. _belive,_ soon.) "O wha is yon, that came this way, Sae hastily that hither came? I think it be my brother dear, I think it be young Christie Græme. "Yere welcome here, my billy dear, And thrice ye're welcome unto me! "-- "But I'm wae to say, I've seen the day, When I am come to fight wi' thee. "My fathers gane to Carlisle town, Wi' your father Bewick there met he: He says I'm a lad, and I am but bad, And a baffled man I trow I be. "He sent me to schools, and I wadna learn; 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 billy dear, That ever such a thing should be! We'll take three men on either side, And see if we can our fathers agree." "O hold thy tongue, now, billy Bewick, And of thy talking let me be! But if thou'rt a man, as I'm sure thou art, Come o'er the dyke, and fight wi' me." "But I hae nae harness, billy, on my back, As weel I see there is on thine."-- "But as little harness as is on thy back, As little, billy, shall be on mine."-- Then he's thrown off 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 off his cloak, And's psalter-book frae's hand flung he; He laid his hand upon the dyke, And ower he lap most manfully. O they hae fought for twa lang hours; When twa lang hours were come and gane, The sweat drapp'd fast frae off them baith, But a drap of blude could not be seen. Till Græme gae Bewick an awkward stroke, Ane awkward stroke strucken sickerly; He has hit him under the left breast, And dead-wounded to the ground fell he. "Rise up, rise up, now, billy dear, Arise and speak three words to me! Whether thou's gotten thy deadly wound, Or if God and good leeching may succour thee?" (_sickerly_, surely.) "O horse, O horse, now, billy 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, billy Bewick, 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,