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Besyde the battale Perdicas,
On fute, embraissit the talwas,
Come before the Kingis battale,
Armit in fetas apparale,
Betys and weill seuin score neir,
With cote-armouris of quayntis seir.
Aganis thame of Pers thay ȝeid,

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That Marciane had to keip and leid.
Quhair euer thay ga, the fecht was heat,
Maid neuer fute-men sik debeat,
For thay war wonder stark and hardy,
Armit at all pointes fetasly.
Perdicas held ane dart, I hecht,
And smait ane Persiane with all his micht
That him micht helpe nather helme na sheild;
He felled him doun dede in the feild,
And to Betys said he syne,
“Lepe on, fallow, this hors is thyne!”
“I will nocht, fallow,” said Betys,
“Haue na hors on na kin wys
Bot I him win throw fors in fecht!”
Said Perdicas, “thow sayis all richt.
We sall haue anew alsuyth,
Maugre quha be wraith or blyth!”