Thrughe our Yngglishe archery Gave many a wounde full wyde; Many a doughete the garde to dy, Which ganyde them no pryde. The Yngglyshe men let thear bowys be, And pulde owt brandes that wer bright; It was a hevy syght to se Bryght swordes on basnites lyght. Throrowe ryche male and myneyeple, Many sterne the stroke downe streght; Many a freyke, that was full fre, Ther undar foot dyd lyght. At last the Duglas and the PersA" met, Lyk to captayns of myght and of mayne; The swapte togethar tyll the both swat, With swordes that wear of fyn myllA n, Thes worthA" freckys for to fyght, Ther-to the wear full fayne, Tyll the bloode owte off thear basnetes sprente, As ever dyd heal or rayne. "Holde the, PersA"," sayd the Doglas, "And i' feth I shall the brynge Wher thowe shalte have a yerls wagis Of Jamy our Scottish kynge. "Thoue shalte have thy ranson fre, I hight the hear this thinge, For the manfullyste man yet art thowe, That ever I conqueryd in filde fightyng." "Nay," sayd the lord PersA", "I tolde it the beforne, That I wolde never yeldyde be To no man of woman born." With that ther cam an arrowe hastely Forthe off a myghtte wane; Hit hathe strekene the yerle Duglas In at the brest bane. Thoroue lyvar and longs bathe The sharp arrowe ys gane, That never after in all his lyffe-days, He spayke mo wordes but ane: That was, "Fyghte ye, my merry men, whyllys ye may,