If thou wert hung owr yon drawbrigg
Blythe wad I never be
But wi' the pole-axe in his hand,
Outower the bridge sprang he

The first stroke that young Edward gae
He struck wi might and main
He clove the Maitlen's helmet stout,
And near had pierced his brain.

When Matlen saw his ain blood fa,
An angry man was he
He let his weapon frae him fa'
And at his neck did flee

And thrice about he did him swing,
Till on the ground he light
Where he has halden young Edward
Tho' he was great in might

Now let him up, King Edward cry'd,
And let him come to me
And for the deed that ye hae done
Ye shal hae earldoms three

It's ne'er be said in France nor Ire
In Scotland when I'm hame
That Edward once was under me,
And yet wan up again