‘Na fyve mylyon off fynest gold so round,
‘That euir was wrocht in werk or ymage brycht.465
‘I trow in warld was nocht a bettir knycht,
‘Than was the gud Graym off trewth and hardement.’
Teris tharwith fra Wallace eyn doun went.
Bruce said; “Fer ma on this day we haiff losyt.”
Wallace ansuerd; ‘Allace, thai war ewill cosyt,470
‘Throuch thi tresson, that suld be our rycht king,
‘That willfully dystroyis thin awne off spryng.’
The Bruce askyt; “Will thow do my dewyss?”