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, For all from his noz to his sholder blaide And hee nouther hald bonnet, hoze, nor shone, But ane short buffe jerking rounde his waiste, And hee hald a belt of the gude bullis hyde, Als hee came up by the Craigyeburn, Als hee wolde take wingis and flec. And aye hee keuste his burlye heede And hee hemmit and snockerit so awsome loude, And the lyttel wee burdis helde up their neckis, And till that caryl wals out of sychte, And the wodeman grypit to his long bille, And ranne behynde the hezil bushe, Tille the stalwarde caryl passit on. And the deeris toke to their heelis and ranne, And the verrye doggis of the sheepherd ladis For they toke their tailes betweine their houghis, And they eshotte out their crookyt tungis, And the oussen cockyt their stupid heedis, And aye quhan the caryl gave a yowte, And the welderis started on the steipe, And the lyttil wee kiddis rose from their layris, But iffe this caryl wals fleshe and blude, But sickan ane daye and sickan ane fraye, For it wals saide ane horryde trayne The caryl he came to the Greye-Meris Linne, And he howckyt ane holle lyke bendyd bowe, Ane trenche bothe longe and deipe. And he pullit the braiken fro the slacke, The rown-tree fro the Straung-Cleuche Linne, And seven Scottis ellis of that deipe holle, And there he laye with his horrid crewe, For no manne dorst come nie that houffe, For the lyffe of his bodye. But the oussen sancted fro the houmis, The welderis fro the brae; Quhille the herdis gromblit throu the londe, And wist not quhat til saye. Young maidis were missyng fro their beddis, And moderis rockyd their tome credlis, But worde is gone easte, and worde is gone weste, From Yarrawe unto the Ae; And came to the Lord of Annerdaille, 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, Lord Annerdaille rose at the skreigh of the daye, And thre stainche blode-hundis at his heile, That weille cold tracke the mydnichte theiffe, And quhen hee comit to the Hunter-Heck, But hee lousit the leishes of his blode-hundis For they nouthir rowit them on the swairde, But they snokyd the dewe, and snokyd the dewe, And the byrsis raise uponne their backis, Then Jowler hee begoude to youffe, And German's ee begoude to glent, But Harper turnit his flewe to the hevinis, That all the wodis in Moffat-daille, That wals the true and the wairnynge note, And awaye wente the horsmen them behynde, But the fordis were deippe, and the bankis were steippe, And or they wonne to the Selcothe Burne, But they hearit the echois dynnling on, Were synging their mornyng psaulme. And the egill lefte his mistye haime, And he belted the mornyngis ruddye browe, "Spur on, spur on," cryit Anuerdaille, Quhan they came up to the Greye-Meris Linne, But aye he scraipyd, and he snorit "Who holdis this holle," cryit Annerdaille, Gin yee bee creaturis of mortyl byrthe, He hearit ane snockir, and than ane laughe, Als gin the devil hald been asleipe And the three blode-hundis youlit aloude, But oute then came the grousome caryl, Lord Annerdaille hald not worde to saye, And thoche he put grette couryge on, VOL. XVII. L And aye hee lokit at the carylis maike, Than ane scrowe of cockis and hennis. Chryste be mine shielde!" said Lord Annerdaille, If ten such carylis were in the londe, "Quhat seike you heire?" quod the gyant caryl, "You shall haif their bonis then," said the caryl; "Lorde be myne shielde !" quod Annerdaille, 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 will 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, "Art thou for battil?" the caryl replyit, Hee bore ane polle on his sholder And out of that hee throste ane speire, 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. |