Then raisd the slogan with an schout, Fy, TYNDALL to it, JEDBRUGH heir; I trow he was not half sae stout, But anes his stomach was a steir, With gun and genzie, bow and spier, He micht se mony a crakit crown, But up amang the merchant gier, They bussie were as we wer doun. The swallow-tails frae teckles flew, Fyve hundred slain into the flicht, But we had pestellets anew, And schot amang them as we micht. With help of GOD the game gade richt, Frae tyme the foremost of them fell; Hynd owre the know, without gude-nicht, They ran with mony a schout and zell. And after they had turnd again, Zit TYNDALL men they turnd again, And had not bene the merchant packs, There had bene mae of Scotland slain: But JESU gif the folk was fain No put the bussing on thair theis, And sae they fled with all thair main, Doun owre the brae lyke clogged beis. Sir FRANCIS RUSSEL tane was thair, And hurt, as we heir men reherse; Proud WALLINGTOUN was wounded sair, Albeit he was a Fennick ferss, But gif ze wald a souldier serche Amang them all was tane that night, Was nane sae wordie of our verse As COLINGWOOD that courteous knight. Zung HENRY skapit hame, is hurt, A souldier schot him with a bow, Scotland has cause to make great sturt, For laiming of the Laird of Mow. The Laird WATT did weil indeid, His friends stude stoutly by himsell, With little GLADSTONE, gude in neid, For GRETEIN kend not gude be ill. The SCHERIFF wantit not gude-will, Howbeit he might not ficht sae fast: BENJEADERT, HUNDLIE and HUNTHILL, Three, on they laid well at the last Except the horsemen of the gaird: If I could put men to avail, Nane stoutlier stude out for their laird, Nor did the lads of LIDDISDALE. But little harness had we thair, But auld BADRULE had on a jack, And did richt weil, I zou declair, With all the TRUMBULLS at his back. Gude EDERSTANE was not to lack, With KIRTOUN, NEWTOUN, nobill-men. Thir is ail the specials I haif spack, Forby them that I could nocht ken. Qhua did invent that day of play, We neid nocht feir to find him sune, For Sir JOHN FOSTER, I dare weil say, Maid us that noysome afternune: Not that I speik precisely out, That he supposd it wald be perill, But pryde and breaking out, but dout, Gart TYNDALL lads begin the quarrell. FAIR ‘MABEL’ OF WALLINGTON. When we were silly sisters seven, sisters [we] were so fair. Five of us were brave knights wives, and died in child-bed sair, Up then spake fair ‘Mabel’, marry would she nane. If ever she came in man’s bed the same gate wad she gang. Make no vows, fair ‘Mabel’, for fear they broken be, Here’s been the knight of Wallington asking good-will of thee. Here’s been the knight [of Wallington] mother, asking good-will of me; Within three-quarters of a year you may come bury me.