In till his hart he was gretlye agast.
Rycht weill he trowit that was no spreit of man;
It was sum dewill, at sic malice began.200
He wyst no waill thar langar for to bide,
Vp throuch the hall thus wicht Wallace can glid,
Till a closs stair; the burdis raiff in twyne,
Fyftene fute large he lap out of that in.
Wp the wattir sodeynlye he couth fair;205
Agayne he blent quhat perance he sawe thair.
Him thocht he saw Faudoun that hugly syr;