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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.
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 wield the broad sword like me.
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 wield the broad sword like me.
Combined 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 send thee.
But this, and many a well aimed blow,
The generous Baron warded.
Being loath to harm so dear a friend.
Himself he only guarded :
From fate shall not defend thee
My sister’s wrongs shall brace my arms,
This stroke to death shall send thee.
But this, and many a well aimed blow,
The generous Baron warded.
Being loath to harm so dear a friend.
Himself he only guarded :
Till mad, at being sore abused,
A furious push he darted,
Which pierced the brains of bold M‘Van,
Who with a groan departed.
Curse on my skill!—what have I done!
Rash man !—but thou would have it:
A furious push he darted,
Which pierced the brains of bold M‘Van,
Who with a groan departed.
Curse on my skill!—what have I done!
Rash man !—but thou would have it:
