They fought together as brethren true,
Lyke hardy men and bolde,
Many a man to the ground they threw,
And many a herte made colde.
LXXXV
But when their arrowes were all gon,
Men presyd to them full fast,
They drew theyr swordès then anone,
And theyr bowès from them cast.
LXXXVI
They went lyghtlye on theyr way,
Wyth swordes and bucklers round;
By that it was mydd of the day,
They had made many a wound.
LXXXVII
There was many an out-horne[680] in Carleile blowen,
And the belles backwarde dyd ryng;
Many a woman sayde, Alas!
And many theyr handes dyd wryng.
LXXXVIII
The Mayre of Carleile forth com was,
Wyth hym a ful great route:
These thre yemen dred hym full sore,
For theyr lyvès stode in doute.