Till mony of the Englishmen
About the wall he slew.

Full fifteen days that braid host lay,
Sieging auld Maitland keen,
Syne they hae left him, hail and fair,
Within his strength of stane.

Then fifteen barks, all gaily good,
Met them upon a day,

Which they did lade with as much spoil
As they could bear away.

"England's our ain by heritage;
And what can us withstand,

Now we hae conquer'd fair Scotland,
With buckler, bow, and brand?"

Then they are on to the land o' France,
Where auld King Edward lay,
Burning baith castle, tower, and town,
That he met in his way.

Untill he came unto that town,

Which some call Billop-Grace,

There were auld Maitland's sons, a' three,

Learning at school, alas!

The eldest to the youngest said,

"O see ye what I see?

Gin a' be trew yon standard says,*

We're fatherlesse a' three.

* Edward had quartered the arms of Scotland with his own.

"For Scotland's conquer'd, up

Landmen we'll never be :

and down;

Now will ye go, my brethren two,
And try some jeopardy?"

Then they hae saddled twa black horse,
Twa black horse and a grey;

And they are on to King Edward's host,
Before the dawn of day.

When they arriv'd before the host,

They hover'd on the lay

"Wilt thou lend me our king's standard,

To bear a little way?"

"Where was thou bred? where was thou born?

Where, or in what country?" "In north of England I was born :" (It needed him to lie).

"A knight me gat, a lady bore,
I'm a squire of high renowne;
I well may bear't to any king,
That ever yet wore crowne."

"He ne'er came of an Englishman,

Had sic an e'e or bree;

But thou art the likest Auld Maitland,

That ever I did see.

"But sic a gloom on ae brow-head,

Grant I ne'er see agane!

For mony of our men he slew,

And mony put to pain."

When Maitland heard his father's name,

An angry man was he!

Then lifting up a gilt dagger,

Hung low down upon his knee—

He stabb'd the knight the standard bore, He stabb'd him cruellie;

Then caught the standard by the neuk, And fast away rode he.

"Now, is't na time, brothers," he cried, "Now, is't na time to flee ?"

66

'Ay, by my sooth!" they baith replied, "We'll bear your company."

The youngest turned him in a path,
And drew a burnished brand,
And fifteen of the foremost slew,
Till back the lave did stand.

He spurr'd the grey into the path, Till baith his sides they bled"Grey! thou maun carry me away, Or my life lies in wad!"

The captain lookit ower the wa',

About the break o' day;

There he beheld the three Scots lads

Pursued along the way.

"Pull up portcullize! down draw-brigg!

My nephews are at hand;

And they sall lodge wi' me to-night,
In spite of all England."

Whene'er they came within the yate,
They thrust their horse them frae,

And took three lang spears in their hands,
Saying, "Here sall come nae mae !”

And they shot out, and they shot in,
Till it was fairly day;

When mony of the Englishmen
About the draw-brigg lay.

Then they hae yoked carts and wains,

To ca' their dead away,

And shot auld dykes aboon the lave,
In gutters where they lay.

The king, at his pavilion door,
Was heard aloud to say,

"Last night three o' the lads o' France
My standard stole away.

"Wi' a fause tale, disguis'd, they came, And wi' a fauser trayne;

And to regain my gaye standard,

These men were a' down slayne."

"It ill befits," the youngest said,

66

A crowned king to lie ;

But, or that I taste meat and drink,
Reproved sall he be."

He went before king Edward strait,
And kneel'd low on his knee;

"I wad hae leave, my lord," he said,
"To speak a word wi' thee."

The king he turned him round about,
And wistna what to say-

Quo' he, "Man, thou's hae leave to speak,
Tho' thou should speak a' day."

"Ye said, that three young lads o' France,
Your standard stole away,

Wi' a fause tale, and fauser trayne,
And mony men did slay :

"But we are nane the lads o' France,
Nor e'er pretend to be ;

We are three lads o' fair Scotland,
Auld Maitland sons are we;

"Nor is there men, in a' your host,
Daur fight us three to three."

"Now, by my sooth," young Edward said,
"Weel fitted ye shall be !

"Piercy sall wi' the eldest fight,
And Ethert Lunn wi' thee:
William of Lancaster, the third,
And bring your fourth to me!"

"Remember, Piercy, aft the Scot*
Has cow'rd beneath thy hand :
For every drap of Maitland blood,
I'll gie a rig of land."

He clanked Piercy ower the head,
A deep wound and a sair,

The two first lines are modern, to supply an imperfect stanza.