Alas! it wear great pitté.
But, Persé, thowe art a lorde of lande,
I am a yerle callyd within my contrè;
Let all our men uppone a parti stande;
And do the battell off the and of me.
Now Cristes cors on his crowne, sayd the lord Persé,
Who soever ther to says nay.
Be my troth, doughté Doglas, he says,
Thow shalt never se that day;
Nethar in Ynglonde, Skottlonde, nar France,