“Our raklesly I haiff tayn vpon me,
“With waik power to bryng him throw the se.
“It forsyt nocht, wald God I war torment,75
“So Wallace mycht with worschip chaip wnschent.”
Quhen Wallace saw, and hard this mannys mon,
To comfort him in gud will is he gon.
‘Maister,’ he said, ‘quhat has amowit the?’
“Nocht for my selff, this man said petuislé.80
“Bot off a thing I dar weill wndirtane,
“Thocht all war heyr the schippis off braid Bertane,