‘Set on them, lads!’ quo Willie than;
‘Fye, lads, set on them cruellie!
For ere they win to the Ritterford,
Mony a toom saddle there sall be!’
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Then till ‘t they gaed, wi heart and hand;
The blows fell thick as bickering hail;
And mony a horse ran masterless,
And mony a comely cheek was pale.
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