"þat non salle passe out, nouþer þe ne þou.
þe Inglis armed stout toward þe Scottis drouh,
þer stedes broched þei fast, þat myght formast he ȝede.
þe Baliol was agast, for he stode tille no dede,
For soþe at þe first, in poudre as dos þe chaf,
Fleand fast þei þrist, & fled boþe rif & raf.
Was neuer non of þam, þat bode wik no gode,
Bot Sir Patrik Graham a while to bataile stode.
He was a man douhty, bot slayn he was fulle sone,
Ten þousand & fyfti & four þer were so done.
Was neuer in no bataile so mykelle folk misferd,
With so litelle trauaile, þat man sauh ne of herd.
¶ þe Scottis had no grace, to spede in þer space, for to mend þer nisse, [Couwe.]
þei filed þer face, þat died in þat place, þe Inglis rymed þis.
"Oure fote folk put þam in þe polk, & nakned þer nages,
"Bi no way herd I neuer say of prester pages,
"Purses to pike, robis to rike, & in dike þam schonne,
"þou wiffin Scotte of Abrethin, kotte is þi honne.
[L. thise.] SHISE erles þat I of red, þat in þe castelle were,
Sauh þer folk not sped, bot slayn alle þer here. [De ruina Scottorum.]
Whan our men out camen to þo þat left þer stille,
þei com out alle samen, & ȝald þam tille our wille.
Opon þe toþer dai Edward þider cam,
þe prisons of þer pray alle þat euer þei nam,
Were brouht him bifore, þre erles þre barons,
& mo be fiue score kynghtes & lordes of touns,
