“This race,” said he, “I may sair rew,
For I see weill my dreme wes trew.
Me-thocht yone otter gart me bleid,
And buir me backwart from my steid.
Bot heir I vow to God soverane
That I sall never just[419] agane.”
And sweitlie to the Squyer said,
“Thow knawis the cunning[420] that we maid,
Quhilk of us twa suld tyne[421] the feild
He suld baith hors and armour yield