‘Wherefore shoot, archers, for my sake! And let sharp arrows flee. Minstrels, play up for your waryson[1068]! And well quit it shall be. XLIII ‘Every man thynke on his true-love, And mark him to the Trinitye: For unto God I make mine avowe This day will I not flee.’ XLIV The blodye herte in the Douglas arms His standard stood on hie, That every man might full wel knowe; Bysyde stood starrès three. XLV The white lion on the English part, Forsooth as I you sayn, The lucettes[1069] and the cressants both The Scot fought them again. XLVI Upon Seynt Andrewe loud can they crye, And thrice they showt on hyght, Syne mark’d them on our English men, As I have told you right. XLVII Seynt George the bryght, Our Ladye’s knyght, To name they were full fayne; Our English men they cry’d on hyght, And thrice they shot agayne. XLVIII With that sharp arrows began to flee, I tell you in certayne: Men of arms began to joyne, Many a doughty man was slayne. XLIX The Percy and the Douglas met That either of other was fayne; They swapp’d[1070] together while they swet[1071] With swords of fyne Collayne[1072]: L Until the blood from their bassonets[1073] ran As the roke[1074] doth in the rayne; ‘Yield thou to me,’ sayd the Douglas, ‘Or elles thou shall be slayne. LI ‘For I see by thy bryght bassonet Thou art some man of myght: And so I do by thy burnysh’d brand, Thou’rt an earl or elles a knyght.’ LII ‘By my good faith,’ said the noble Percye, ‘Now hast thou rede full ryght; Yet will I never yield me to thee, While I may stand and fyght.’ LIII They swapp’d together, while that they swet, With swordès sharp and long; Each on other so fast they bette[1075], Their helms came in pieces down. LIV The Percy was a man of strength, I tell you in this stounde[1076]: He smote the Douglas at the sword’s length That he fell to the grounde. LV The Douglas call’d to his little foot-page, And sayd, ‘Run speedilye, And fetch my ain dear sister’s son, Sir Hugh Montgomery. LVI ‘My nephew good,’ the Douglas sayd, ‘What recks the death of ane? Last night I dream’d a dreary dream, And I ken the day’s thy ain. LVII ‘My wound is deep: I am fayn to sleep, Take thou the vaward of me, And hide me by the bracken bush Grows on yon lilye-lee.’ LVIII He has lifted up that noble lord With the saut tears in his e’e; He has hidden him in the bracken bush That his merry men might not see. LIX The standards stood still on eke side; With many a grievous groan They fought that day, and all the night; Many a doughtye man was slone. LX