‘My wound is deep: I am fayn to sleep,
Take thou the vaward of me,
And hide me by the bracken bush
Grows on yon lilye-lee.’
LVIII
He has lifted up that noble lord
With the saut tears in his e’e;
He has hidden him in the bracken bush
That his merry men might not see.
LIX
The standards stood still on eke side;
With many a grievous groan
They fought that day, and all the night;
Many a doughtye man was slone.
LX
The morn was clear, the day drew nie,
—Yet stiffly in stowre[1077] they stood;
Echone hewing another while they might drie,
Till aye ran down the blood.
LXI
The Percy and Montgomery met
That either of other was fayn:
They swappèd swords, and they two met
Till the blood ran down between.