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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.”-

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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 sounis
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.

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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,
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,
And out of that hee throste ane speire,
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.


The reste whelit runde their steedis and fledde,
Swifte als the westlande wynde ;
But some they quakit and stode agaste,
Quhan lokinge them behynde:

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But Johne hee wals ane cunnyng manne,
Hee seyis his skille againe-
Hee put two arrowis to his bowe,
And drewe with mychte and maine :

The caryl deftly caught the ane
Full fiercelye als it flewe;

But the other piercit him throw the breiste,
And clave his herte in two.

Hee gaif ane growle-hee gaif but ane,
It maide all the hillis to rore ;
Then down hee fell on the Peele-Knowe side,
And wordis spoke nefer more.

Then up rose the Lord of Annerdaille
From ambosche quhair hee laye,
And hee sackit the carylis grousome holle,
And herryit it for ane preye.

But, och! the sychte wals then displayit
Of horrour and of paine,

Lorde graunt that the men of Annerdaille
May nefer beholde againe !

For soche ane wylde and salvage schene
By barde hald never beine sunge,
It wolde not syng, it wolde not saye
Be anye Chrystean tunge.

They toke the carylis menzie brode,
His sonnis and his wyffis three ;
And they haunkit towis abote their neckis,
And hangit them on ane tree;

Then toke them to their grousome holle,
For their last horryde roome;

And the Gyantis Trensche and the Gyantis Grave
Will kythe till the daye of doome.

Now, long live Jamis, our nobil Kyng,
And Lord Annerdaille, long live hee,
And long live John of Littledeane,
Quha set this countrye free.

Some saide those gyantis were brotal bestis,
And soulis they colde haif none,
Some saide they had, but shoke their hedis,
And wonderit quhare they were gone.

Till Peter of Bodisbecke hee came forthe,
With prufis of the verye beste,
That put ane end to the dispute,
And set the lande at reste:

For Peter wals out at eventyde,
Upon his heightis, I wotte,
And Peteris eyne colde see full weille
Quhat other mennis colde notte.

So Peter behelde ane flocke of deilis,
Lyke greifous hoddye-crawis,
And ilk ane hald ane gyantis soule
A-writhing in its clawis.

They flewe als they were bounne to helle,
Swyfte als the fyerie flaime,

But they drappit the fiendis in Gallowaye,
The place fro whence theye caime;

They flewe ouer bonny Annerdaille,
And ouer the Nythe they flewe;
But they drappit the soulis in Gallowaye,
Als the worste helle they knewe.

Maye the Lorde preserve bothe manne and beiste
That treade this yirde belowe,

And littil bairnis, and maydenis fayre,

And graunt them graice to growe;

And may never ane reude uncouthlye gueste
Come their blessit bowris withynne;
And neuer ane caryl be seine

Lyke him of the Greye-Meris Linne.


To Malachi Mullion, Esq. M.D. F.R.S. Sec. of C. North, Esq. E.B.M.

In days when our King Tommy rang,
His beuk it cost but half-a-crown,
We thocht it was a groat ower dear,
And caa'd the Taylor thief and loun!

MY DEAR SECRETARY, Ir was well remarked by one of our cleverest contributors, Napoleon Buonaparte, (Heaven rest his soul!) that there is but one step from the sublime to the ridiculous. This pas seul, after a month's deliberation, has been resolutely taken by Taylor, the Trimmer, and certainly the effect has been prodigious. We all remember how sublime was the Old Series of the LONDON! We all behold how ridiculous is the New; and accordant to the creed of the Corsican, reverence is turned into contempt. Instead of eyes uplifted methodistically towards the revolution of that heavenly body, mouths wide and silent as barn-doors, hands clasped, and knees slightly bent in

unconscious adoration,-now ecce eyes leering like the grey goggles of the Ettrick Shepherd himself, mouths gullering guffaws, hands performing on that exquisite instrument the Scottish fiddle, and knce and elbow keeping time together in a concerto between a chuckle and a crow. This is not the picture of me alone, Timothy Tickler, but of the small body of subscribers in general to the Dunciad. "Look, look at THE LONDON! my gracious! only look at the London!

Twig the New Series!-Well, this beats cock-fighting!-Price three shillings and sixpence !-unconscionable extortion-oh! for a barrel of Powldoodies, or a demi-gallon of potheen!" Joking apart, and to treat the New


vel with the London, why, Cato did and Addison approved cannot be wrong;" and at least, my Mullion, let it not be remembered on my epitaph.

Why, what a blundering blockhead this Taylor must be! You know, that, not long since, he came crawling out, at the point of North's rod, from the accumulation of six months' filth and slime, a perfect Grub of an Editor, and began biting away at the pointed iron, in total forgetfulness of his want of teeth. You then saw the Grub disappear into the interior of his palace, with all the pomposity of a flying beetle into his horse-dung, obviously mistaking himself for a Gadfly, and indulging in the dear delusion of a sting. Now, once more, he sallies forth an enormous Bummer—a manifest Drone-with posteriors out of all proportion to his little short flimsy wings,-and-. There now, Mullion, did not I tell you so, down upon the pavement drops the Shardborn, and blunders with a groan into the gutter.

Series seriously, devil take me if, since the day on which I was kittled, saw I ever such a Magazine as this! With the deepest humility and contrition do I now confess my own stupidity, which at times has been more than I could well bear; but henceforth, I will pluck up my spirits, by remembering the NEW SERIES. Surely, Mullion, my stupidity never equalled this! I ask you as a friend, whom I have ever found a friend, and, I hope, treated as such, both inter fam. and coram pop. for the greater part of half a century, if ever I appeared to be so alarmingly near my last? Yes, Mullion, with you I have used no disguise. You have attended me in my stupidest moments, when "none were by to hear" but your worthy self; you have seen me lean my forehead in unidea'd despair, now on my hand, now on the edge of the table, while glass and tumbler yielded a symphonious and spiritless response to the ululation of their master's grief-You have seen, Mullion, those dim, dull, dozing, dawnering, dying, dead eyes of mine, gradually shut up in their blue wrinkled sockets-You have heard that most alarming of all sympthe grammarless groan in which the very verb loses his authority, and governs the accusative no more. -You have beheld my organ of SelfEsteem, which, in size, is second only to that of a Simpson, torpid as the causality of a Poole-and wept to think, that things seemed in a fair train to qualify me for a contributor to the Phrenological Journal-All this and more have you seen, and now, on your conscience and your credit, by your hopes of heaven, and of your provision-warehouse, as a christian, and a contributor, I ask you, with my hand upon my heart, and a face beaming with the simplest sincerity, if ever, by day or night, gloom or glim mer, you had any reason to suspect that I was about to commence idiot on my own account, with such a capital and stock on hand as any one partner in this concern of the NEW SERIES? If you must answer in the affirmative, out with it at once-let me know the uttermost extent of my imbecility-I am prepared to hear the worst-at my time of life the shock need not be very great. I am grateful for the past. Yet if my intellect be indeed pronounced on a le


But easy-casy-let us drop all entymological personalities, and take another look at the New Series. Pray, may I ask, what barn-door fowl scratched this ground-plan of the THAMES QUAY? But I shall suppose my dear Mullion in his own corner over his jug, while I read aloud the first paragraph of the leading article of the first number of the New Series.

"All those who consider the 'apparelling of the state' as a matter of some consequence, must hail with pleasure the growing disposition to improve the appearance and convenience of the country at large, and the metropolis in particular: Soane, Nash, and Macadam, are stoning all the streets to death as though they bellishment of our city it would be well were so many St Stephens. In the em

to remember that London is the metro

polis, not merely of England, but of the whole British empire; an empire which, comprising its dependencies in Asia,

Africa, and America, as well as in Europe, in point of population is exceeded by few, and, considering its wealth, knowledge, intellectual energy, commercial enterprize, and the consequent moral and physical power, perhaps unequalled by any, ancient or modern. The capital of such an empire ought to possess a com.. mensurate character. On the contrary,

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