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 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 ec,

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:

For there they saw bothe wyffis and barnis,
Of frychtsome gyant brode,

Come runnyng out of the horryde holle,
And drynke their kinsmenis blode.

And aye they quaffit the reide warme tyde,
Their greide it wals so ryffe,

Then trailit the bodies into the holle,
Though fleckeryng still with lyffe.

Lord Annerdaillis men they rode and ranne
O'er all the Border bounne,

Till they founde out Johne of Littledeane,
Ane aircher of gritte renounne.

He came to the Gray-Meris Linne Quernighte,
And dernit him dexterouslye,

And there hee watchit for the grousome caryl,
To walke on his blodye lee.

Quhan hee had tokyn his horryde meale,
Too baisse quhereon to thynke,
Then strode hee downe unto the streime
To taike his mornyng drynke.

And Johne hee lokit out ouer his denne,
And sawe the monstour lye ;
And the littil fisches swatteryng awaye,
For they thochte the streime gone drye.

The caryl hee rose up lyke ane tree,
And toke his steidfaste stande,
For hee behelde our gode yeomanne
With bent bowe in his hande.

Nee dorste not turne him runde to flye,
Though moche hee hald ane mynde,
For hee knewe the fleite and flying shafte
Wolde pierce his herte behynde.

Our yeomanne sent ane airrowe fleite,
From bowe of the good bay-tree;
But the caryl keppyt it in his teethe,
Als easily als ane flee.

Another and another flewe,

With als moche mychte and speide, But stille hee keppyt them in his teethe, And chewit them for ane meide.

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 againe

Lyke him of the Greye-Meris Linne.

LETTERS OF TIMOTHY TICKLER, ESQ. TO EMINENT LITERARY CHARACTERS.

No. XX.

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!