My landes for years thre,
For a better man of hart, nare of hande
Was not in all the north countre.”
(2) With that, there came an arrow keen
Out of an English bow,
Which struck Erle Douglas to the heart,
A deepe and deadly blow:
Who never spoke more words than these,
“Fight on, my merry men all;
For why, my life is at an end;