‘Wallace,’ he said, ‘that thow has socht allday.240
‘The womannis dede, will God, thow sall der by.’
Hesilrige thocht it was na tyme to ly;
Out off that houss full fayne he wald haiff beyne.
The nycht was myrk, yeit Wallace has him seyne,
Freschly him straik, as he come in gret ire,245
Apon the heid, birstit throuch bayne and lyr.
The scherand suerd glaid till his coler bayne,
Out our the stayr amang thaim is he gayne.
Gude Awchinlek trowit nocht that he was dede;