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12 THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOUKNE.
He lyghted dowyn upon his fote, is
And schoote his horsse clene away.
Every man sawe that he dyd soo,
That ryall was ever in rowght; Every man schoote hys horsse him froo,
And lyght hym rowynde abowght. a>
Thus Syr Hary Percye toke the fylde,
For soth, as I yow saye; Jesu Cryste in hevyn on hyght
Dyd helpe hym well that daye.
But nyne thowzand, ther was no moo, as
The cronykle wyll not layne; Forty thowsande Skottes and fowre
That day fowght them agayne.
But when the batell byganne to joyne,
In hast ther came a knyght; ac
1 Then' letters fayre furth hath he tayne, And thus he sayd full ryght:
" My lorde, your father he gretes yow well,
Wyth many a noble knyght; He desyres yow to byde 3«
» That he may see thys fyght.
"The Baron of Grastoke ys com owt of the west, "With him a noble companye;