“Tary,” quod James, “ane quhyle, for be my thrift[288]
The feind ane thing I can se bot the lift[289].”
“No more can I,” quod Jhone, “be Goddis breid[290],
I see na-thing except the steipill heid.
Yit, thocht thy braunis be lyk twa barrow-trammis,
Defend thee, man!” Than ran thay to, lyk rammis.
At that rude rink[291] James had bene strykin down
War nocht that Jhone for feirsnes fell in swoun;
And rycht sa James to Jhone had done greit deir[292],
Wer not amangis his hors feit he brak his speir.