And plantit pallions thair to byde:
We lukit down the uther syde,
And saw cum briesting owr the brae,
And Sir George Foster was thair gyde,
With fyftene hundrid men and mae.
It greivt him sair that day I trow,
With Sir John Hinrome of Schipsydehouse,
Because we were not men enow,
He counted us not worth a souse;
Sir George was gentil, meik, and douse,