turned his horse and attempted to
escape. Several soldiers pursued him by command of their officer, but,
being well mounted, only the two headmost seemed likely to gain on him.
He turned deliberately twice, and discharging first one of his pistols,
and then the other, rid himself of the one pursuer by mortally wounding
him, and of the other by shooting his horse, and then continued his
flight to Bothwell Bridge, where, for his misfortune, he found the gates
shut and guarded. Turning from thence, he made for a place where the
river seemed passable, and plunged into the stream, the bullets from the
pistols and carabines of his pursuers whizzing around him. Two balls took
effect when he was past the middle of the stream, and he felt himself
dangerously wounded. He reined his horse round in the midst of the river,
and returned towards the bank he had left, waving his hand, as if with
the purpose of intimating that he surrendered. The troopers ceased firing
at him accordingly, and awaited his return, two of them riding a little
way into the river to seize and disarm him. But it presently appeared
that his purpose was revenge, not safety. As he approached the two
soldiers, he collected his remaining strength, and discharged a blow on
the head of one, which tumbled him from his horse. The other dragoon, a
strong, muscular man, had in the mean while laid hands on him. Burley, in
requital, grasped his throat, as a dying tiger seizes his prey, and both,
losing the saddle in the struggle, came headlong into the river, and were
swept down the stream. Their course might be traced by the blood which
bubbled up to the surface. They were twice seen to rise, the Dutchman
striving to swim, and Burley clinging to him in a manner that showed his
desire that both should perish. Their corpses were taken out about a
quarter of a mile down the river. As Balfour's grasp could not have been
unclenched without cutting off his hands, both were thrown into a hasty
grave, still marked by a rude stone and a ruder epitaph.

[Gentle reader, I did request of mine honest friend Peter Proudfoot,
travelling merchant, known to many of this land for his faithful and
just dealings, as well in muslins and cambrics as in small wares, to
procure me on his next peregrinations to that vicinage, a copy of
the Epitaphion alluded to. And, according to his report, which I see
no ground to discredit, it runneth thus:--

Her