Yong Wallace, fulfillit of hie curage,
In prys of armys desirous and sauage,
Thi Waslage may neuir be forlorn,
Thi deidis ar knawin thocht that the Warld had suorn;
For thi haile mynde, labour and besynes,
Was set in Wer and werray rychtwisnes,
And felloune los of thi deyr-worthi kyn.
The Rancour more remaynde his mynde with-in.
It was his lyff and maist part of his fude
To se thame sched the byrnand Sothroun blude.
Till Auchincruff with-outyn mar he raid,
And bot schort tyme in pes at he thar baid.
Thar duelt a Wallas welcwmmyt him full weill,
Thocht Inglismen thar-of had litill feille.
Bathe meite and drynk at his will he had thar
In Laglyne wode quhen that he maid Repayr.
This gentill man was full oft his Resett;
With stuff of houshald strestely he thaim bett.
So he desirit the toune of Air to se.
His child with him, as than na ma had he.
Ay next the wode Wallace gert leiff his hors,
Syne on his feit yeid to the merkat cors.
The Persye was in the castell of Ayr,
With Inglismen gret nowmer and repayr.
Our all the toune rewlyng on thar awne wis
Till mony Scot thai did full gret suppris.
Abandounly Wallace amang thaim yeid.
The Rage of youth maid him to haf no dreid.
A churll thai had that felloune byrdyngis bar.
Excedandlye he wald lyft mekill mar
Than ony twa that thai amang thame fand,
And als be ws a sport he tuk on hand:
He bar a sasteing in a boustous poille,
In his braid bak of ony wald he thoille,
Bot for a grot, als fast as he mycht draw.
Quhen Wallas herd spek of that mery saw,
He likit weill at that mercat to be
And for a strak he bad him grottis thre.
The churll grantyt, of that proffyr was fayn.
To pay the siluir Wallas was full bayne.
Wallas that steing tuk wp in-till his hand.
Full sturdely he coud befor him stand.
Wallace with that apon the bak him gaif,
Till his ryg bayne he all in sondyr draif.
The Carll wes dede. Of him I spek no mar.
The Inglismen semblit on Wallace thair,
Feill on the feld of frekis fechtand fast,
He unabasyt and nocht gretlie agast.
Apon the hed ane with the steing hitt he,
Till bayn and brayn he gert in pecis fle.
Ane othir he straik on a basnat of steille;
The tre to-raiff and fruschit euire-deille.
His steyng was tynt, the Inglisman was dede,
For his crag bayne was brokyn in that stede.
He drew a suerd at helpit him at neide.
Throuch-oute the thikest of the pres he yeid
And at his hors full fayne he wald haif beyne.
Twa sarde him maist that cruell war and keyne.
Wallace raturnd as man of mekyll mayne
And at a straik the formast has he slayne
The tothir fled and durst him nocht abide,
Bot a rycht straik Wallas him gat that tyd.
In at the guschet brymly he him bar;
The grounden suerd throuch-out his cost it schar.
V slew he thar or that he left the toune.
He gat his hors, to Laglyne maid him boune,
Kepyt his child and leyt him nocht abide,
In saufte thus on to the wod can ride.
Feille folowit him on hors and eik on futte
To tak Wallace, bot than it was no butte.
Couert of treis sawit him full weille,
Bot thar to bid than coude he nocht adeille.
Gud ordinance that serd for his estate
His cusyng maid at all tyme, ayr and late.
The Squier Wallas in Auchincruff that was
Baith bed and meite he maid for thame to pas
As for that tyme that he remanyt thar.
Bot sar he langit to se the toune of Ayr.
Thedyr he past apon the mercate day.
Gret god, gif he as than had beyne away!
His emys serwand to by him fysche was send,
Schir Ranald Craufurd, schireff than was kend.
Quhen he had tane of sic gud as he bocht,
The Perseys stwart sadly till him socht
And said, 'Thow Scot, to quhom takis thow this thing?'
'To the schireff,' he said. 'Be hewynnys king,
My lord sall haiff it, and syne go seke the mar!'
Wallace on gaite ner by was walkand thar.
Till him he yeid, said, 'Gud freynd, pray I the,
The schirreffis serwand thow wald lat him be.'
A hetfull man the stwart was of blude
And thocht Wallace chargyt him in termys rude:
'Go hens, thow Scot, the mekill dewill the speid!
At thi schrewed ws thow wenys me to leid.'
A huntyn staff in-till his hand he bar.
Thar-with he smat on Willyham Wallace thair,
Bot for his tre litill sonyhe he maid
Bot be the coler claucht him with-outyn baid;
A felloun knyff fast till his hart straik he,
Syn fra him dede schot him doun sodanli.
Catour sen syne he was but weyr no mar.
Men of armes on Wallace semblit thar,
Four scor, was sett in armys buskyt boun
On the merket day for Scottis to kepe the toun,
Bot Wallace bauldlye drew a suerd of wer.
In-to the byrneis the formast can he ber,
Throuch-out the body stekit him to dede,
And syndry ma or he past of that stede;
Ane othir aukwart a sarye straik tuk thar,
Abown the kne the bayne in sondir schar.
The thrid he straik throuch his pissand of maile
The crag in twa; no weidis mycht him waill.
Thus Wallace ferd als fers as a lyoun.
Than Inglismen that war in bargane boun
To kepe the gait, with speris rud and lang-
For dynt of suerd thai durst nocht till hym gang;
Wallace was harnest In his body weyle-
Till him thai socht with hedis scharp of steyle
And fra his strenth enweronde him about.
Bot throu the pres on a side he went out
In-till a wall that stude by the se syde;
For weyle or wo thar most he nedis abide,
And off thar speris in pecis part he schar.
Than fra the castell othir help come mar.
A-tour the dike thai yeid on athir side,
Schott doun the wall; no socour was that tyde.
Than wist he nocht of no help bot to de.
To wenge his dede amang thaim lous yeid he,
On athyr part in gret Ire hewand fast.
Hys byrnyst brand to-byrstyt at the last,
Brak in the heltis, away the blaid it flaw.
He wyst na wayne bot out his knyff can draw.
The fyrst he slew that him in hand has hynt
And othir twa he stekit with his dynt.
The Ramanand with speris to him socht,
Bar him to ground; than forthir mycht he nocht.
The lordis bad that thai suld nocht him sla.
To pyne him mar thai chargyt him to ta.
Thus in thar armys, suppos that he had suorn,
Out off the garth be fors thai haff him born.
Thus gud Wallace with Inglismen was tane
In falt of helpe for he was him allayne.
He coud nocht cheys, sic curage so hym bar.
Frewill fortoun thus brocht him in the suar,
And fals Inwye ay contrar rychtwisnes,
That wiolent god full of doubilnes.
Thai fenyeit goddis Wallace neuir knew.
Gret rychtwisnes him ay to mercy drew.
His kyn mycht nocht him get for na kyn thing,
Mycht thai hawe payit the Ransoune of a king.
The more thai bad the mor it was in wayne.
Off thar best men that day vii has he slayne.
Thai gert set him in-till a presoune sell.
Off his turment gret payne it war to tell.
Ill meyt and drynk thai gert on-till him giff.
Gret merwaille was lang tyme gif he mycht leyff;
And ek thar-to he was in presoune law
Quhill thai thocht tyme on him to hald the Law.
Leyff I him thus in-to that paynfull sted.
Gret god abowe, till him send sum ramede!
The playne compleynt, the pittows wementyng,
The wofull wepyng that was for his takyng,
The tormentyng of euery creatur!
'Alas,' thai said, 'how suld our lyff endur?
The flour of youth in-till his tendir age,
Be fortoun armes has left him in thrillage.
Lefand as now a chifftane had we nane
Durst tak on hand bot young Wallace alane.
This land is lost, he caucht is in the swar.
Prophesye out, Scotland is lost in cayr.'
Barrell heryng and wattir thai him gawe
Quhar he was set in-to that ugly cawe.
Sic fude for him was febill to comend.
Than said he thus, 'All-weildand god resawe
My petows spreit and sawle amange the lawe.
My carneill lyff I may nocht thus defend.
Our few Sothroune on-to the dede I drawe.
Quhen-so thow will out of this warld I wend,
Giff I suld now in presoune mak ane end!
Eternaile god, quhy suld I thus-wayis de,
Syne my beleiff all haile remanys in the,
At thin awn will full worthely was wrocht?
Bot thow rademe, na liff thai ordand me.
Gastlye fadyr that deit apon the tre,
Fra hellis presoune with thi Blud ws bocht,
Quhi will thow giff thi handewerk for nocht,
And mony worthy in-to gret payne we se,
For off my lyff ellys no thing I roucht?
O wareide suerd, of tempyr neuir trew!
Thi fruschand blaid in presoune sone me threw,
And Inglismen our litill harme has tane.
Off ws thai haiff wndoyne may than ynew!
My faithfull fadyr dispitfully thai slew,
My brothir als and gud men mony ane.
Is this thi dait? Sall thai ourcum ilkane?
On our kynrent, deyr god, quhen will thow rew,
Sen my pouir thus sodandlye is gane?
All worthi Scottis, all-michty god thow leid,
Sen I no mor in wyage may you speid.
In presoune heir me worthis to myscheyff.
Sely Scotland, that of help has gret neide,
The nacioune all standis in a felloun dreid.
Off warldlynes all thus I tak my leiff.
Off thir paynys god lat you neuir preiff,
Thocht I for wo all out off witt suld weid!
Now othir gyft I may none to you gyff.'
O der Wallace, umquhill was stark and stur,
Thow most on neide in presoune till endur.
Thi worthi kyn may nocht the saiff for sold.
Ladyis wepyt that was bathe myld and mur,
In fureous payne the modyr that the bur,
For thou till hir was fer derer than gold.
Hyr most desyr was to be wndyr mold.
In warldlynes quhi suld ony ensur,
For thow was formyt forsye on the fold!
Compleyne, sanctis, thus as your sedull tellis;
Compleyn to hewyn with wordis that nocht fell-is;
Compleyne your woice wnto the god abuffe;
Compleyne for him in-to that sitfull sell is;
Compleyne his payne in dolour thus that duellis,
In langour lyis for losyng of thar luff.
His fureous payne was felloune for to pruff.
Compleyne also yhe birdis blyth as bellis;
Sum happy chance may fall for your behuff.
Compleyne lordys, compleyne yhe ladyis brycht,
Compleyne for him that worthi was and wycht,
Off Saxons sonnys sufferyt full mekill der;
Compleyne for him was thus in presone dicht,
And for na caus bot, Scotland, for thi richt.
Compleyne also yhe worthi men of wer;
Compleyne for him that was your aspresper
And to the dede fell Sothron yeit he dicht;
Compleyne for him your triumphe had to ber.
Celinius was maist his geyeler now.
In Inglismen allace quhi suld we trow,
Our worthy kyn has payned on this wys?
Sic reulle be rycht is litill till allow.
Me think we suld in barrat mak thaim bow
At our power, and so we do feill sys.
Off thar danger god mak ws for to rys,
That weill has wrocht befor thir termys and now,
For thai wyrk ay to wayt ws with supprys.
Quhat suld I mor of Wallace turment tell?
The flux he tuk in-to that presoune fell.
Ner to the Dede he was likly to drawe.
Thai chargyt the geyler nocht on him to duell,
Bot bryng him wp out of that ugly sell
To Iugisment, quhar he suld thoill the law.
This man went doun and sodanlye he saw,
As to his sycht, dede had him swappyt snell,
Syn said to thaim, 'He has payit at he aw.'
Quhen thai presumyt he suld be werray ded,
Thai gart serwandys, withoutyn langer pleid,
Wyth schort awis, on-to the wall him bar.
Thai kest him our out off that bailfull steid-
Off him thai trowit suld be no mor ramede-
In a draff myddyn, quhar he remannyt thar.
His fyrst norys, of the Newtoun of Ayr,
Till him scho come, quhilk was full will of reid,
And thyggyt leiff away with him to fayr.
In-to gret Ire thai grantyt hir to go.
Scho tuk him wp withoutin wordis mo
And on a caar wnlikly thai him cast;
Atour the wattir led him with gret woo
Till hyr awn hous, withoutyn ony hoo.
Scho warmyt wattir, and hir serwandis fast
His body wousche quhill filth was of hym past.
His hart was wicht and flykeryt to and fro,
Als his twa eyne he kest wp at the last.
His fostir-modyr lowed him our the laiff,
Did mylk to warme, his liff giff scho mycht saiff,
And with a spoyn gret kyndnes to him kyth.
Hyr dochtir, had of xii wokkis ald a knayff,
Hir childis pape in Wallace mouth scho gaiff.
The womannys mylk recomford him full swyth.
Syn in a bed thai brocht him fair and lyth.
Rycht couertly thai kepe him in that caiff,
Him for to sawe so secretlye thai mycht.
In thar chawmyr thai kepyt him that tide.
Scho gert graith wp a burd be the hous side
Wyth carpettis cled and honowryt with gret lycht;
And for the woice in euiry place suld bide
At he was ded, out throw the land so wide,
On presence ay scho wepyt wndyr slycht.
Bot gudely meytis scho graithit him at hir mycht.
And so befell in-to that sammyn tid
Quhill forthirmar at Wallas worthit wycht.
Thomas Rimour in-to the Faile was than
With the mynystir, quhilk was a worthi man.
He wsyt offt to that religious place.
The peple demyt of Witt mekill he can;
And so he told, thocht at thai blis or ban,
Quhilk hapnyt suth in mony diuers cace,
I can nocht say be wrang or rychtwisnas,
In rewlle of wer quhethir thai tynt or wan.
It may be demyt be diuisioun of grace.
Thar man, that day had in the merket bene,
On Wallace knew this cairfull cas so kene.
His mastir speryt quhat tithingis at he saw.
This man ansuerd, 'Of litill hard I meyn.'
The mynister said, 'It has bene seildyn seyn,
Quhar Scottis and Inglis semblit bene on Raw,
Was neuir yit, als fer as we coud knaw,
Bot othir a Scot wald do a Sothroun teyn
Or he till him, for awentur mycht faw.'
'Wallas,' he said, 'ye wist tayne in that steid,
Out our the wall I saw thaim cast him deide,
In thar presoune famyst for fawt of fude.'
The mynister said with hart hewy as leid,
'Sic deid to thaim me think suld foster feid,
For he was wicht and cummyn of gentill blud.'
Thomas ansuerd, 'Thir tithingis ar noucht gud.
And that be suth my self sall neuir eit breid,
For all my witt her schortlye I conclud.'
'A woman syne of the Newtoun of Ayr
Till him scho went fra he was fallyn thar,
And on hir kneis rycht lawly thaim besocht
To purches leiff scho mycht thin with him fayr.
In lychtlynes tyll hyr thai grant to fayr.
Our the Wattyr on-till hir hous him brocht,
To berys him als gudlye as scho mocht.'
Yhit Thomas said, 'Than sall I leiff na mar
Gyff that be trew, be god that all has wrocht!'
The mynister herd quhat Thomas said in playne.
He chargyt him than, 'Go speid the fast agayn
To that sammyn hous and werraly aspye.'
The man went furth, at byddyng was full bayn.
To the Newtoun to pas he did his payn,
To that ilk hous, and went in sodanlye.
About he blent on-to the burd him bye.
This woman rais. In hart scho was nocht fayn.
'Quha aw this lik?,' he bad hir nocht deny.
'Wallace,' scho said, 'that full worthy has beyne.'
Than wepyt scho that pete was to seyne.
The man thar-till gret credens gaif he nocht.
Towart the burd he bowned as he war teyne.
On kneis scho felle and cryit, 'For Marye scheyne,
Lat sklandyr be and flemyt out of your thocht.'
This man hir suour, 'Be him that all has wrocht,
Mycht I on lyff him anys se with myn eyn
He suld be saiff thocht Ingland had him socht!'
Scho had him wp to Wallace be the des.
He spak with him, syne fast agayne can pres
With glaid bodword thar myrthis till amend.
He told to thaim the fyrst tithingis was les.
Than Thomas said, 'Forsuth, or he deces,
Mony thousand in feild sall mak thar end.
Off this regioune he sall the Sothroun send,
And Scotland thris he sall bryng to the pes.
So gud off hand agayne sall neuir be kend.'
All worthi men that has gud witt to waille,
Be war that yhe with mys deyme nocht my taille.
Perchance ye say that Bruce he was none sik.
He was als gud, quhat deid was to assaill,
As off his handis, and bauldar in battaill,
Bot Bruce was knawin weyll ayr off this kynrik;
For he had rycht we call no man him lik.
Bot Wallace thris this kynrik conquest haile,
In Ingland fer socht battaill on that rik.
I will ratorn to my mater agayne.
Quhen Wallace was ralesched off his payn
The contre demyd haile at he was dede,
His derrest kyn nocht wist of his Ramede,
Bot haile he was, likly to gang and ryd.
In-to that place he wald no langar byde.
His trew kepar he send to Elrisle.
Eftir him thar he durst nocht lat thaim be.
Hir dochtir als, thar serwand and hir child,
He gart thaim pas on-to his modyr myld.
Quhen thai war gayne, na wapynnys thar he saw
To helpe him with, quhat auentur mycht be-faw.
A rousty suerd in a noik he saw stand,
Withoutyn Belt, but bos, bukler or band.
Lang tyme befor it had beyne in that steid.
Ane agyt man it left quhen he was dede.
He drew the blaid; he fand it wald bitt weill,
Thocht it was foule nobill it was of steyll:
'God helpis his man, for thou sall go with me
Quhill bettir cum, will god full sone may be!'
To Schir Ranald as than he wald nocht fair,
In that passage offt Sothroun maid Repar.
At Rycardtoun full fayn he wald hawe beyne
To get him hors and part of armour scheyne.
On thedirwart as he bownyt to fair
Thre Inglismen he met ridand till Ayr,
In thair wiage at Glaskow furth had beyne;
Ane Longcastell that cruell was and keyne,
A bauld squier, with him gud yemen twa.
Wallace drew by and wald haiff lattyn thaim ga.
Till him he raid and said dispitfully,
'Thow Scot, abide. I trow thow be sum spy,
Or ellis a theyff, fra presens wald the hid.'
Than Wallace said with sobyr wordis that tid,
'Schir, I am seik. For goddis luff latt me ga.'
Longcastell said, 'Forsuth it beis nocht sa.
A felloune freik thow semys in thi fair.
Quhill men the knaw thow sall with me till Ayr.'
Hynt out his suerd that was of nobill hew.
Wallace with that at his lychtyn him drew,
Apon the crag with his suerd has him tayne,
Throw brayne and seyne in sondir straik the bayne.
Be he was fallyn the twa than lichtyt doun,
To wenge his dede to Wallace maid thaim boun.
The tayne of thaim apon the hed he gaiff.
The rousty blaid to the schulderis him claiff.
The tothir fled and durst no langar bide.
With a rud step Wallace coud eftir glide.
Out thourch his rybbis a seker straik drewe he,
Quhill leuir and lounggis men mycht all redy se.
Thar hors he tuk, bathe wapynnys and armour,
Syne thankit god with gud hart in that stour.
Syluir thai had, all with him has he tayne
Him to support, for spendyng had he nayne.
In-to gret haist he raid to Ricardtoun.
A blyth semblay was at his lychtin doun.
Quhen Wallace mett with schir Richart the knycht,
For him had murnit quhill feblit was his mycht,
His thre sonnys of Wallace was full fayne.
Thai held him lost, yit god him sawth agayne.
His eyme, schir Ranald, to Rycardtoun come fast.
The wemen told, by Corsby as thai past,
Off Wallace eschaipe, syne thar wiage yeid.
Schyr Ranald yit was in a felloune dreid.
Quhill he him saw in hart he thocht full lang.
Than sodanlye in armys he coud him fang.
He mycht nocht spek bot kyst him tendirlye.
The knychtis spreit was in ane extasye.
The blyth teris tho bryst fro his eyne two;
Or that he spak a lang tyme held him so,
And at the last rycht freindfully said he,
'Welcum, neuo, Welcum, deir sone, to me!
Thankit be he that all this Warld has wrocht,
Thus fairlye the has out of presoune brocht!'
His modyr come and othir freyndis enew
With full glaid will to feill thai tithingis trew.
Gud Robert Boyd, that worthi was and wicht,
Wald nocht thaim trow quhill he him saw with sicht.
Fra syndry part thai socht to Ricardtoun,
Feille worthi folk that war of gret renoun.
Thus leiff I thaim in myrth, blys and plesance,
Thankand gret god off his fre happy chance.