"Say, have you got no armour on?
Have you no under robe of steel?
I never saw an Englishman
Become his doublet half sae weel."
"Fy no! fy no!" George Wharton said, 65
"For that's the thing that mauna be,
That I should come wi' armour on,
And you a naked man truly."
"Our men shall search our doublets, George,
And see if one of us do lie; 70
Then will we prove, wi' weapons sharp,
Ourselves true gallants for to be."
Then they threw off their doublets both,
And stood up in their sarks of lawn;
"Now, take my counsel," said Sir James, 75
"Wharton, to thee I'll make it knawn:
"So as we stand, so will we fight,
Thus naked in our sarks," said he;
"Fy no! fy no!" George Wharton says,
"That is the thing that must not be. 80
"We're neither drinkers, quarrellers,
Nor men that cares na for oursell,
Nor minds na what we're gaun about,
Or if we're gaun to heav'n or hell.
"Let us to God bequeath our souls, 85
Our bodies to the dust and clay:"
With that he drew his deadly sword,
The first was drawn on field that day.
Se'en bouts and turns these heroes had,
Or e'er a drop o' blood was drawn; 90
Our Scotch lord, wond'ring, quickly cry'd,
"Stout Wharton, thou still hauds thy awn!"
The first stroke that George Wharton gae,
He struck him thro' the shoulder-bane;
The neist was thro' the thick o' the thigh; 95
He thought our Scotch lord had been slain.
"O ever alack!" George Wharton cry'd,
"Art thou a living man, tell me?
If there's a surgeon living can,
He's cure thy wounds right speedily." 100