Page:Sir Neil, and Glengyle, the Highland chieftains.pdf/3

 What ails, what ails my deareſt friend? Why want ye to deſtroy me? I want no flattery, baſe Sir Neil, but, draw your ſword and try me. Why ſhould I fight with you, M’Van, you ne’er have me offended; And if I aught to you have done, I’ll own my fault and mend it.

Is this your boaſted courage, knave? Who would not now deſpiſe thee? But if thou ſtill refuſe to fight, I’ll like a dog chaſtiſe thee. Forbear, fond fool, tempt not thy fate; preſume not now to ſtrike me: There’s not a man in all Scotland, can weild the broad ſword like me.

Combin’d with guilt, thy wond’rous ſkill from fate ſhall not defend thee; My Siſter’s wrongs ſhall brace my arms, this ſtroke to death ſhall fend thee. But this, and many a well aim’d blow, the generous Baron warded, Being loath a friend, himſelf he only guarded:

Till mad, at being ſo ſore abus’d, a furious puſh darted, Which the brains of bold M‘Van who with a groan departed.