This is (quod he) the richt report
Of all that I did heir and knaw;170
Thocht my discourse be sumthing schort,
Tak this to be a richt suthe saw:
Contrairie God and the kings law,
Thair was spilt mekle Christian blude,
Into the battil of Harlaw:175
This is the sum, sae I conclude.
But zit a bonny quhyle abyde,
And I sall mak thee cleirly ken
Quhat slauchter was on ilkay syde,
Of Lowland and of Highland men:180
Quha for thair awin haif evir bene;
These lazie lowns micht weil be spaird,
Chessit lyke deirs into their dens,
And gat thair waiges for reward.
Malcomtosh, of the clan heid cheif,185
Macklean, with his grit hauchty heid,
With all thair succour and relief,
War dulefully dung to the deid:
And now we are freid of thair feid,
They will not lang to cum again;190
Thousands with them, without remeid,
On Donald's syd that day war slain.
And on the uther syde war lost,
Into the feild that dismal day,
Chief men of worth, of mekle cost,195
To be lamentit sair for ay.
The Lord Saltoun of Rothemay,
A man of micht and mekle main;
Grit dolour was for his decay,
That sae unhappylie was slain.200
Of the best men amang them was
The gracious gude Lord Ogilvy,
The sheriff principal of Angus,
Renownit for truth and equitie,
For faith and magnanimitie:205
He had few fallows in the field,
Zet fell by fatall destinie,
For he nae ways wad grant to zield.
Sir James Scrimgeor of Duddap, knicht,
Grit constabill of fair Dundè,210
Unto the dulefull deith was dicht:
The kingis cheif banner man was he,
A valziant man of chevalrie,
Quhais predecessors wan that place
At Spey, with gude King William frie,215
Gainst Murray and Macduncans race.
Gude Sir Allexander Irving,
The much renownit laird of Drum,
Nane in his days was bettir sene,
Quhen they war semblit all and sum.220
To praise him we sould not be dumm,
For valour, witt, and worthyness;
To end his days he ther did cum,
Quhois ransom is remeidyless.
And thair the knicht of Lawriston225
Was slain into his armour schene,
And gude Sir Robert Davidson,
Quha provest was of Aberdene:
The knicht of Panmure, as was sene,
A mortall man in armour bricht,230
Sir Thomas Murray, stout and kene,
Left to the warld thair last gude nicht.