But if it be my fortune thee, Grahame, to kill,
’Tis home again I’ll never gae.’
37
‘Thou art of my mind then, bully Bewick,
And sworn-brethren will we be;
If thou be a man, as I trow thou art,
Come over this ditch and fight with me.’
38
He flang his cloak from [off] his shoulders,
His psalm-book out of his hand flang he,