To be a warning to all the gentlemen who are in Scotland,—the Wallace was drawn, and afterwards was hanged,—beheaded all alive, his bowels burnt,—the head to London Bridge was sent—to remain there.—Afterwards Simon Fraser, who was traitor and fickle,—and known full wide.
Sir Edward our king, who is full of piety,—sent the Wallace’s quarters to his own country,—to hang in four parts (of the country), to be their mirror,—thereupon to think, in order that many might see—and dread.—Why would they not take warning—of the battle of Dunbar,—how ill they sped?
Bishops and barons came to the king’s peace,—as men that were false, fickle, and lying,—oaths they swore to him in the place where he was,—to be firm and true to him in all kinds of moments,—thrice (?),—that they should not against him go,—so were they tamed then;—what profits it to lie?
To King Edward they plight their faith;—false was their covenant as frost is in May,—which the sun from the southward wipes away;—many a proud Scot thereof may lament—in year.—Was never Scotland—by dint of man’s hand—altogether bought so dear.
The Bishop of Glasgow, I wot he was taken;—the Bishop of St. Andrew, too, he is caught;—the Abbot of Scone with the King is not ...;—all their purpose is come to nothing,—by right.—They were unwise—when they thought it praiseworthy—against their king to fight.
Through counsel of these bishops named before,—Sir Robert the Bruce first was chosen king,—he may every day his foes see before him;—if they may catch him, I wot he is undone,—without fail.—To say the truth,—dearly he shall pay—for having begun battle.
They that crowned him were proud and bold,—they made a king of summer, as they never should,—they set on his head a crown of red gold,—and gave him a sceptre as one should to a king,—to judge.—When he was set on a throne,—little good knew he—a kingdom to rule.
Now King Hobbe gangeth in the moors,—to come to town he has no desire;—the barons of England if they might gripe him,—they would teach him to pipe in English,—through strength:—be he never so stout,—yet he is sought out—wide and far.
Sir Edward of Caernarvon, (Jesus save him and have him in regard!)—and Sir Aymer de Valence, a gentle knight and liberal,—they have sworn their oath that, by the grace of God!—they will deliver us from that false country,—if they can.—Much hath Scotland lost,—what latterly and what before,—and little praise won.
Now I shall take up where I left off before,—and tell you of Fraser, as I promised you;—in the battle of Kirkencliff Fraser was taken;—his countenance ceased from making any boast—near Stirling:—knights and swains,—freemen and thanes,—many with him.