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THE GROUSOME CARYL ; Ane most Treuthful Ballant,
Compilit be Mr Hougge. THERE wals ane man came out of the weste,
And ane uncouth caryl wals hee, 'For the bouzely hayre upon his hede
Wals pirlit with his derke eebree,
And the feint ane browe had this caryl ava,
That mortyl man cold see,
Wals duffit rychte fearsomelye.
And hee nouther hald bonnet, hoze, nor shone,
Nor sarke nor trewis hald hee,
That hardlye reechyt his knee.
And ane buckil of irone hald hee,
Wals ten lang feite and three.
With stalwarde steppe and free,
Als hee wolde take wingis and flee.
And aye hee keuste his burlye heede
To flyng the hayre from his ee;
That the levis shoke on the tree.
And the lyttel wee burdis helde up their neckis,
And maide their croppis full sma',
Ane breath they durste not drawe.
Thynking his lyffe wals gone,
Tille the stalwarde caryl passit on.
And the deeris. toke to their heelis and ranne,
With their nozes fro the wynde,
They nefer lokit them behynde.
And the verrye doggis of the sheepherd ladis
And made to the braies with speide :
And they eshotte out their crookyt tungis,
In lenthe more than ane spanne,
And whynkit als theye ranne.
And swatchyt theire tailis full longe,
And wiste not quhat wals wronge. And aye quhan the caryl gave a yowte,
Or snockerit with belsche and braye, Then all the rockis playit clatter agayne,
And nicherit for mylis awaye.
And the welderis started on the steipe,
Or scowrit alongis the lee, And the lyttil wee kiddis rose from their layris,
And blette moste erdlischlye.
And he pullit the braiken fro the slacke,
The hedder fro the hille, The rown-tree fro the Straung-Cleuche Linne,
And the birke of the Raken Guille.
And seven Scottis ellis of that deipe holle,
He coverit up cairfullye,
Unseine be mortyl ee;
For the lyffe of his bodye.
But the oussen sancted fro the houmis,
The welderis fro the brae;
And wist not quhat til saye.
Young maidis were missyng fro their beddis,
Before the brikke of the daye,
For the bairnis had elyit awaye.
From Yarrawe unto the Ae;
At Lochess quhare he laye.
That Lorde he leuche at his vasselmenis tale,
And he sayde full jocundlye, I will wende to the Grey-Meris Linne the morne,
This grousome caryl to see.
Lord Annerdaille rose at the skreigh of the daye,
And mounted his berry-browne steide, With fouré-and-twentye wale wychte menne,
To guairde him in tymme of neide.
And thre stainche blode-hundis at his heile,
Of the terrouble border brude,
Or the sheddour of Chrystean blude.
And quhen hee comit to the Hunter-Heck,
Och there wals a greeveous maene,
That colde not be tolde againe.
But hee lousit the leishes of his blode-hundis
That lokit bothe doure and droye,
Nor scamperit runde for joye.
But they snokyd the dewe, and snokyd the dewe,
And snokit it ouer againe ;
Broschit lyke ane wyld boris maine.
With a shorte and ane aungrie tone, And German's ee begoude to glent,
With blode-reide glaire thereonne.
But Harper turnit his flewe to the hevinis,
And hee gaif ane tout so longe, That all the wodis in Moffat-daille,
With moulesse echois ronge.
That wals the true and the wairnynge note,
Awaye wente the hundis amaine,
With spurre and with steddye reine.
But the fordis were deippe, and the bankis were steippe,
And paithwaye there wals none,
The braif blode-hundis were gone.
But they hearit the echois dynnling on,
Alonge the cludis so caulme,
Were synging their mornyng psaulme.
And the egill lefte his mistye haime,
Amiddis the cliffe so grimmé,
And joinit in the blodye hymme.
“ Spur on, spur on," cryit Annerdaille,
“ Leiste evil mine hundis betydde,
Ane ryving it moste bydde."
Quhan they came up to the Greye-Meris Linne,
To the trenche bothe deippe and longe,
But age he scraipyd, and he snorit
And lukyd with wylde dismaye,
But colde not get worde to saye.
“ This denne of dreide and doubte?
I soummont you to come oute.”
He hearit ane snockir, and than ane laughe,
And than ane smotherit screime,
And wakenit oute of ane dreime.
And the three blode-hundis youlit aloude,
Quhan theye hearit their maisteris voyce ;
And frightesome grewe the noise.
And up on his trenche stode hee,
Als the hill of Turnberrye.
For his herte it beatte so faste;
He stode full sore aghaste.
And aye hee lokit at the carylis maike,
And then at his pygmye mennis ;They were no more before his faice
Than ane scrowe of cockis and hennis.
Chryste be mine shielde !” said Lord Annerdaille,
“ For als mine faithe shall shwyve, If ten such carylis were in the londe,
They wold swallowe it up alyve.”. “Quhat seike you heire ?" quod the gyant caryl,
“ Or quhat is your wille with mee?"“ We seike for oussen, sheipe, and kye,
And eke for ane faire ladye !"“ You shall haif their bonis then,” said the caryl ;
“ You shall haif them with righte gode wille, Quhan mine gude demis and nobil sonnis
Haif gnawit at them their fille.”“ Lorde be myne shielde !" quod Annerdaille,
« And saife me from skaithe and scorne ! For the lykis of that I nefer hearit,
From the daye that I wals borne. “Louse forthe myne hundis, thou baisse reiver !
If rackle thou woldest not bee.”“ Lothe wold I bee,” the caryl replyit,
“ For outhir youre golde or fee. Theye wil brynge downe the stott but and the steire, The welder and
the fleite hynde ; Or be dejune to myne gude demis, Quhan better they may not fynde.”
Lord Annerdaille he waxed wrothe,
Such thochtis he colde not thole, And he vowit to shede the carylis blode,
And burrye him in his holle. “ Art thou for battil ?” the caryl replyit,
“That thynge rejoysethe mee; For it will pleisse our stomackis to feiste
On thyne fatte men and thee.”
Hee bore ane polle on his sholder
Wals ten large feite and three,
Moste dreadfulle for to see.
Lord Annerdaille's men drew out their brandis,
And flewe on the caryl amaine ; But in five twynkillyngis of an ee,
Ane thirde of them lay slaine.