He spurr’d the gray into the path,
Till baith his sides they bled:
“Gray! thou maun carry me away,
Or my life lies in wad!”
The captain lookit o’er the wall,
About the break of day;
There he beheld the three Scots lads
Pursued along the way.
“Pull up portcullize! down draw-brig!
My nephews are at hand;
And they shall lodge with me to-night,
In spite of all England.”
Whene’er they came within the yate,
They thrust their horse them frae,
And took three lang spears in their hands,
Saying—“Here shall come nae me!”
And they shot out, and they shot in,
Till it was fairly day;
When mony of the Englishmen
About the draw-brig lay.
Then they ha’e yoked the carts and wains,
To ca’ their dead away,
And shot auld dykes abune the lave,
In gutters where they lay.
The king, at his pavilion door,
Was heard aloud to say:
“Last night, three of the lads of France
My standard stole away.
“With a fause tale, disguised they came,
And with a fauser trayne;
And to regain my gaye standard,
These men where all down slayne.”
“It ill befits,” the youngest said,
“A crownèd king to lee;
But, or that I taste meat and drink,
Reprovèd shall he be.”
He went before king Edward straight,
And kneel’d low on his knee:
“I wou’d ha’e leave, my lord,” he said,
“To speak a word with thee.”