“But if I kill my billie dear,
   “It is God’s will! so let it be. 
  “But I make a vow, ere I gang frae hame,
   “That I shall be the next man’s die.”

  Then he’s put on’s back a good ould jack,
   And on his head a cap of steel,
  And sword and buckler by his side;
   O gin he did not become them weel!

  We’ll leave off talking of Christie Graeme,
   And talk of him again belive;
  And we will talk of bonnie Bewick,
   Where he was teaching his scholars five.

  When he had taught them well to fence,
   And handle swords without any doubt;
  He took his sword under his arm,
   And he walked his father’s close about.

  He looked atween him and the sun,
   And a’ to see what there might be,
  Till he spied a man, in armour bright,
   Was riding that way most hastilie.

  “O wha is yon, that came this way,
   “Sae hastilie that hither came? 
  “I think it be my brother dear;
   “I think it be young Christie Graeme.”

  “Ye’re welcome here, my billie dear,
   “And thrice you’re welcome unto me!”
  “But I’m wae to say, I’ve seen the day,
   “When I am come to fight with thee.

  “My father’s gane to Carlisle town,
   “Wi’ your father Bewick there met he;
  “He says I’m a lad, and I am but bad,
   “And a baffled man I trow I be.

  “He sent me to schools, and I wadna learn;
   “He gae me books, and I wadna read;
  “Sae my father’s blessing I’ll never earn,
   “Till he see how my arm can guard my head.”

  “O God forbid, my billie dear,
   “That ever such a thing suld be! 
  “We’ll take three men on either side,
   “And see if we can our fathers agree.”

  “O hald thy tongue, now, billie Bewick,
   “And of thy talking let me be! 
  “But if thou’rt a man, as I’m sure thou art,
   “Come o’er the dyke, and fight wi’ me.”

  “But I hae nae harness, billie, on my back,
   “As weel I see there is on thine.” 
  “But as little harness as is on thy back,
   “As little, billie, shall be on mine.”

  Then he’s thrown aff his coat of mail,
   His cap of steel away flung he;
  He stuck his spear into the ground,
   And he tied his horse unto a tree.

  Then Bewick has thrown aff his cloak,
   And’s psalter-book frae’s hand flung he;
  He laid his hand upon the dyke,
   And ower he lap most manfullie.

  O they hae fought for twae lang hours;
   When twae lang hours were come and gane,
  The sweat drapped fast frae aff them baith,
   But a drap of blude could not be seen.

  Till Graeme gae Bewick an ackward[B] stroke,
   Ane ackward stroke, strucken sickerlie;
  He has hit him under the left breast,
   And dead-wounded to the ground fell he.

  “Rise up, rise up, now, hillie dear! 
   “Arise, and speak three words to me!—­
  “Whether thou’se gotten thy deadly wound,
   “Or if God and good leaching may succour thee?”