“Let, wing’d with pleasure, the soft minutes flow,
And lasting bliss no interruption know,
While with like heat, her faithful bosom warms;
For in his time he was the flower of arms.” […]
“Such deeds were wrought, as truly ‘twere a crime,
Them to describe in our unlearned rhyme.
How arms met arms, and swords went clishy clash.
For rural lays to sing would be too rash.” […]
“But they in vain to break it did essay,
Till Wallace fretting at the long delay,
Came on himself, and with a furious shock,
The bar and staple all in flinders broke.” […]
“Upon the head, so fierce he struck at one,
The shearing sword cut thro’ his collar bone:
Another on the arm, that stood near by,
He struck, till hand and sword on the field did lie.” […]
“But Wallace quickly brought the rascal back,
And there give him the whistle of his plack.
Along his ribs he gave him such a rout,
Till all his entrails and his lungs hung out;” […]
“His dagger with the other hand drew out,
In spite of all his men so throng about,
And boldly without either fear or dread,
Upon the spot he stick’d young Selbie dead.” […]
“Then, sword in hand, with daring front erect,
Mov’d to the gate, where, to his odd surprise,
The frightful Faudon stood before his eyes,
Holding his bloody head in his right hand.” […]
“Wallace unmov’d, the impetuous shock sustains,
And awful joy his gloomy brow serenes.
Straight rising to the blow, he aim’d a wound,
And brought his enemy stagg’ring to the ground.” […]
“The youthful captain of the Scot in ire,
Us’d to the wars, exerts his glorious fire,
Runs through the crowd, mows them down like grass,
Whilst he invulnerable stands like brass.” […]
“While Scotland weeps, weeps out her dearest blood,
And floats to ruin down the crimson flood.
Th’ important now, decides her future state;
And see! The scales are hung to weigh her fate.” […]
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