Quha wan this feild na creature culd ken[302],
Till at the last Johne cryit, “Fy! red[303] the men.”
“Yea! red,” quod James, “for that is my desyre;
It is ane hour sen I began to tyre.”
Sone be[304] thay had endit that royall rink,
Into the feild micht no man stand for stink.
Than every man, that stude on far, cryit, Fy!
Sayand adew; for dirt partis company.
Thair hors, harnis, and all geir[305], wes so gude,
Lovyng[306] to God! that day was sched no blude.