Page:Whole prophecies of Scotland, England, Ireland, France, and Denmark (1).pdf/23

Rh And a buckler well broad, that keeped me beſt.

So freſhly he forced me meat for to make,

That he ſhundered on fold, and his feet ſnappered.

The baſtean on the bent fore braſed him frae,

And I but laid on on his breaſt, bowned myself;

All griffling on the ground graciouſly held,

Through the grace of the great God, that had me warn’d

He yelped, he yalmeted, and youled loud,

And ſtruggled fast his ſtrength, and ſtruck upon left,

But I held him by the hair as mine hap was,

And height to hurt him ful fore, but he him ſtill held:

And conjured him by Chriſt, and his mother dear,

That he ſhould me to his kith and kin:

But long was it that he lay ere he ſpake might,

And at the laſt he can leave, and lightly he ſaid,

Waldhave, wilt thou, that wall hath thee happened;

Thou thought not that thy weird this wrought ſhould be,

But let me riſe of this race, and reſt thee beſide;

And I ſhall readily, without riot, thee marvels tell:

Great grace hast thou gotten, that got me this time,

I ſhall grieve thee no more, ſo is thy grave turned:

But yet I truſted not his tale, while he his truth gave

By the law and the lead, that he lived on,

That I ſure ſhould be, and ſafe, and none ill betide:

Then let him I riſe, and leaned on his shoulder,

And great marvel his face, and his form had:

He was formed like a freik all his four quarters:

And then his chin and his face haired ſo thick,

With hair growing ſo grim, fearful to ſee.

I ſtrained at him foremoſt, the fear of himſelf,

Why his figure and his face was ſo fierce made?

If wearie of the world? or what him ailed?

He girned, he gaſped, and groaned full fore,

Wept with his grey eyes, and ſuddenly he ſaid,

Good game all the way, is as God will:

For he is grieved through my guilt, and I no grace ſerved,

My wild wanton will, and my miſdeeds,

may know of all woe, and my weird alas!

Because of my ſin, that I ſerved ever,

Hath his ſorrow and this fight ſent unto me,

By trouble of my kin, that I am of come,

Hath me turned into this care, and careful me made:

That I have no hope of help ſo help me our Lord,

While he that put me in grief once grace ſend,