'

3.
Then the Perse owt off Banborowe cam,
with him a myghtee meany,
With fifteen hondrith archares bold off blood and bone;
the wear chosen owt of shyars thre.

4.
This begane on a Monday at morn,
in Cheviat the hillys so he;
The chylde may rue that ys vn-born,
it wos the mor pitte.

5.
The dryvars thorowe the woodes went,
for to reas the dear;
Bomen byckarte vppone the bent
with ther browd aros cleare.

6.
Then the wyld thorowe the woodes went,
on every syde shear;
Greahondes thorowe the grevis glent,
for to kyll thear dear.

7.
This begane in Chyviat the hyls abone,
yerly on a Monnyn-day;
Be that it drewe to the oware off none,
a hondrith fat hartes ded ther lay.

8.
The blewe a mort vppone the bent,
the semblyde on sydis shear;
To the quyrry then the Perse went,
to se the bryttlynge off the deare.

9.
He sayd, 'It was the Duglas promys
this day to met me hear;
But I wyste he wolde faylle, verament;'
a great oth the Perse swear.

10.
At the laste a squyar off Northomberlonde
lokyde at his hand full ny;
He was war a the doughetie Doglas commynge,
with him a myghtte meany.

11.
Both with spear, bylle, and brande,
yt was a myghtti sight to se;
Hardyar men, both off hart nor hande,
wear not in Cristiante.

12.
The wear twenti hondrith spear-men good,
withoute any feale;
The wear borne along be the watter a Twyde,
yth bowndes of Tividale.

13.
'Leave of the brytlyng of the dear,' he sayd,
'and to your boys lock ye tayk good hede;
For never sithe ye wear on your mothars borne
had ye never so mickle nede.'

14.
The dougheti Dogglas on a stede,
he rode alle his men beforne;
His armor glytteryde as dyd a glede;
a boldar barne was never born.

15.
'Tell me whos men ye ar,' he says,
'or whos men that ye be:
Who gave youe leave to hunte in this Chyviat chays,
in the spyt of myn and of me.'

16.
The first mane that ever him an answear mayd,
yt was the good lord Perse:
'We wyll not tell the whoys men we ar,' he says,
'nor whos men that we be;
But we wyll hounte hear in this chays,
in the spyt of thyne and of the.

17.
'The fattiste hartes in all Chyviat
we have kyld, and cast to carry them away:'
'Be my troth,' sayd the doughete Dogglas agayn,
'therfor the ton of