XXXVII
‘Revenge! revenge!’ auld Wat ’gan cry;
‘Fye, lads, lay on them cruellie!
We’ll ne’er see Tiviot-side again,
Or Willie’s death revenged sall be.’
XXXVIII
O mony a horse ran masterless,
The splinter’d lances flew on hie;
But or they wan to the Kershope ford,
The Scotts had gotten the victory.
XXXIX
John o’ Brigham there was slane,
And John o’ Barlow, as I heard say;
And thirty mae o’ the Captain’s men
Lay bleeding on the grund that day.
XL
The Captain was run through the thick of the thigh,
And broken was his right leg-bane;
If he had lived this hundred years,
He had never been loved by woman again.
XLI
‘Hae back the kye!’ the Captain said;
‘Dear kye, I trow, to some they be!
For gin I suld live a hundred years,
There will ne’er fair lady smile on me.’