Deception 

Nor e'er pretend to be: Auld Maitland's sons are we. "Nor is there men in all your host.html">host "Now, by my sooth," young Edward said, And Ethert Lunn with thee; And bring your fourth to me! "Remember, Piercy, aft the Scot For every drap of Maitland blood, A deep wound and a sair, Came running.html">running down his ha/ha.html">ha/hair.html">hair. "Now, I've/ve.html">ve slayne ane; slay ye the twa.html">twa.html">twa; And if the twa shou'd slay ye baith, Had many battles seen; Till the eldest he grew keen. "I am nae king.html">king, nor nae sic thing: For Ethert shall a buffet bide, A deep wound and a sair, Came running o'er his hair. "Now, I've slayne twa; slay ye the ane; And though the ane shou'd slay ye baith. They maul'd him cruellie; That all the host might see. They rade their horse.html">horse, they ran their horse, "We be three.html">three.html">three lads of fair Scotland, An angry.html">angry man was he: And bring him bound to thee! "Now, God forbid," king Edward said, Three worthy leaders we ha'e lost, Blythe wou'd I never be." Upon the brig sprang be. The first stroke that young Edward ga'e, He clove the Maitland's helmet stout, An angry man was he; And at his throat did flee. And thrice about he did him swing, Where he has halden young Edward, "And let him come to me; Thou shalt ha'e earldomes three!" "It's ne'er be said in France, nor e'er That Edward once lay under me, He maul'd him cruellie; Beside the other three. "Now take frae me that feather-bed, I wish I hadna lived this day, Where I was wont to be, Till borne on a bier-tree." Ballad: The Broomfield Hill There was a knight and lady bright .

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