When Percy wi’ the Douglas met, I wat he was fu’ fain! They swakked their swords, till sair they swat, And the blood ran down like rain.
But Percy with his good braid sword, That could so sharply wound, Has wounded Douglas on the brow, Till he fell to the ground.
Then he call’d on his little foot-page, And said—‘Run speedilie, And fetch my ain dear sister’s son, Sir Hugh Montgomery.
‘My nephew good,’ the Douglas said, ‘What recks the death of ane! Last night I dream’d a dreary dream, And I ken the day’s thy ain.
‘My wound is deep; I fain would sleep; Take thou the vanguard of the three, And hide me by the braken bush, That grows on yonder lilye lee.
‘O bury me by the braken bush, Beneath the blooming briar, Let never living mortal ken, That ere a kindly Scot lies here.’
He lifted up that noble lord, Wi’ the saut tear in his e’e; He hid him in the braken bush, That his merrie men might not see.
The moon was clear, the day drew near, The spears in flinders flew, But mony a gallant Englishman Ere day the Scotsmen slew.
The Gordons good, in English blood They steeped their hose and shoon; The Lindesays flew like fire about, Till all the fray was done.
The Percy and Montgomery met, That either of other were fain; They swakked swords, and they twa swat, And aye the blude ran down between.