“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 browhead,
Grant I ne’er see again! 
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 by 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?”
“Ay, by my sooth!” they baith replied,
“We’ll bear you companye.”

The youngest turn’d him in a path,
And drew a burnish’d brand,
And fifteen of the foremost slew,
Till back the lave did stand.

He spurr’d the gray into the path,
Till baith his sides they bled: 
“Gray! thou maun carry me away,
Or my life lies in wad!”

The captain lookit o’er the wall,
About the break of day;
There he beheld the three Scots lads
Pursued along the way.

“Pull up portcullize! down draw-brig! 
My nephews are at hand;
And they shall lodge with 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 shall come nae me!”

And they shot out, and they shot in,
Till it was fairly day;
When mony of the Englishmen
About the draw-brig lay.

Then they ha’e yoked the carts and wains,
To ca’ their dead away,
And shot auld dykes abune the lave,
In gutters where they lay.

The king, at his pavilion door,
Was heard aloud to say: 
“Last night, three of the lads of France
My standard stole away.

“With a fause tale, disguised they came,
And with a fauser trayne;
And to regain my gaye standard,
These men where all down slayne.”

“It ill befits,” the youngest said,
A crowned king to lee;
But, or that I taste meat and drink,
Reproved shall he be.”

He went before king Edward straight,
And kneel’d low on his knee: 
“I wou’d ha’e leave, my lord,” he said,
“To speak a word with thee.”

The king he turn’d him round about,
And wistna what to say: 
Quo’ he, “Man, thou’s ha’e leave to speak,
Though thou should speak all day.”

“Ye said that three young lads of France
Your standard stole away,
With a fause tale and fauser trayne,
And mony men did slay;

“But we are nane the lads of France,
Nor e’er pretend to be: 
We are three lads of fair Scotland,—­
Auld Maitland’s sons are we.

“Nor is there men in all your host
Daur fight us three to three.” 
“Now, by my sooth,” young Edward said,
“Weel fitted ye shall be!