Revenge, revenge, cryd rothsays heir,
Your mail-coat sall nocht byde
The strength and sharpness of my dart;
Then sent it through his syde:
Another arrow weil he markd,
It persit his neck in twa,
His hands then quat the silver reins,
His law as eard did fa.
Sair bleids my liege, sair, sair he bleids.
Again with micht he drew
And gesture dreid his sturdy bow,
Fast the braid arrow flew:
Wae to the knicht he ettled at,
Lament now quene elgreid,
Hie dames to wail zour darlings fall,
His zouth and comely meid.
XXVIII.
Take aff, take aff his costly jupe
(Of gold weil was it twynd,
Knit lyke the fowlers net throuch quhilk
His steilly harness shynd)
Take norse, that gift frae me, and bid
Him venge the blude it beirs;
Say, if he face my bended bow,
He sure nae weapon fears.
XXIX.
Proud norse with giant body tall,
Braid shoulder and arms strong,
Cryd, quhair is hardyknute sae famd,
And feird at Britains throne?
Tho Britons tremble at his name,
I sune sall make him wail,
That eir my sword was made sae sharp,
Sae saft his coat of mail.
That brag his stout heart coud na byde.
It lent him zouthfou micht:
I'm hardyknute this day, he cryd,
To Scotlands king I hecht,
To lay thee low at horses hufe,
My word I mean to keip.
Syne with the first strake eir he strake,
He garrd his body bleid.
XXXI.