“Yhe se,” he said, “gud schiris, thar ordinance;
“Her is no choss, bot owdir do or de.
“We haiff the rycht, the happyar may it be,
“That we sall chaipe with grace out of this land.”595
The Loran, by that, was redy at his hand.
Be that it was eftir nown of the day,
Feill men of witt to consaill sone yeid thai.
The Sothron kest scharply at ilka side,
And saw the wood was nothir lang no wide.600
Lychtly thai thought he suld hald it so lang: