Wart not the grit God he relievd him.
Ane uther throw the breiks him bair,
Quhyle flatlines to the ground he fell:
Then thocht I, we had lost him thair,
Into my heart it struck a knell;
Zit up he raise, the truth to tell,
And laid about him dunts full dour,
His horsemen they faucht stout and snell,
And stude about him in the stour.
Then raisd the slogan with an schout,