#middle scots

My prose translation of a passage in The Wallace (credit to Anne McKim, editor of a 2003 Canongate edition of The Wallace and to Dictionary of the Scots Language for translations of words):

On to the barn, soberly, he [Wallace] went to enter in--for he knew no peril. This woman then called loudly upon him: “O fierce Wallace, a great calamity has befallen! Our men are slain--a pity it is to see--as bestial hounds hanged over a tree; our true barons by two and two passed in.”

Wallace wept for great loss of his kin. Then he scarcely could abide on his horse; he rode to this woman to ask more. “Dear niece,” he said, “the truth--if you can tell it--is my uncle dead? How did this case befall?”

“Out of yon barn,” she said, “I saw him borne, naked, laid low on cold earth before me. His frosty mouth I kissed in that place--just now manlike, now bare, and brought to death. And with a cloth I covered his corpse, for in his life he never did a woman shame. His sister’s son you are, worthy and strong; revenge their death, for God’s sake, with your might! And I shall help, as I am woman true.” 

The original, from John Jamieson’s edition:

On to the bern sadly he couth persew

Till entir in, for he na perell knew.      

This woman than apon him loud can call;     

“O fers Wallace, feill tempest is befall.      

“Our men ar slayne, that peté is to se,     

“As bestiall houndis hangit our a tre;   

“Our trew barrounis be twa and twa past in.”     

Wallace wepyt for gret loss off his kyne.     

Than with wness apon his horss he baid;     

Mair for to sper to this woman he raid.     

‘Der nece,’ he said, ‘the trewth giff thow can tell,      

‘Is my eyme dede, or hou the cace befell?’      

“Out off yon bern,” scho said, “I saw him borne,    

  “Nakit, laid law on cald erd, me beforn.     

“His frosty mouth I kissit in that sted;     

“Rycht now manlik, now bar, and brocht to ded.   

 “And with a claith I couerit his licaym;     

“For in his lyff he did neuir woman schayme.      

“His systir sone thou art, worthi and wicht;      

“Rawenge thar dede, for Goddis saik, at thi mycht: