The Lairde of Lonne.

There wals ane manne of muckil mychte,1
                        
                        His naime wals Lowrie of the Lonne,2
                        
                        Quha helde the loudeste bragge of weir,3
                        
                        Of manne that evir battylle wonne.4
                        He beatte M‘Killum lance to lance,5
                        
                        He beat Gilfillane of the daille
                               ;6
                        
                        And at the tiltis and tourneymentis,7
                        
                        He downit our gallantis all and haille.8
                        His falshown wals the fire-flaughtis glyme,9
                        
                        His speire the streimer of the sonne,10
                        
                        So that the championis stode alofe,11
                        
                        And quailit before the Lairde of Lonne.12
                        Then he rade este and he rade weste,13
                        
                        Braiffing eche baulde upsettying manne ;14
                        
                        There nevir wals ane knichte so proudde,15
                        
                        Since this proudde warlde at first beganne.16
                        But there livit ane mayden in the Mers,17
                        
                        Sho wals the flouir of fayre Scotland,18
                        
                        And sho hald manye landis and rentis,19
                        
                        And ane erildome at hir command.20
                        But yet sho wolde not yelde to wedde,21
                        
                        Nor trust hir herytage to manne ;22
                        
                        And quhan the lordis came syching sadde,23
                        
                        Sho lynkit at hir quheele and spanne.24
                        And on them passit hir mirry jokis,25
                        
                        Pitying their caisse rychte wofullye ;26
                        
                        But bade them seik ane odir sposse,27
                        
                        For ane marryit wyffe sho wolde not bee.28
                        But downe came Lowrie of the Lonne,29
                        
                        To carrye the mayden, landis, and alle,30
                        
                        He knowit sho nevir colde dysclaime31
                        
                        Ane lover so gallant, braiffe, and talle.32
                        His armour wals so daizzling brychte,33
                        
                        That eyne colde hardlye loke thereonne ;34
                        
                        He semit cladde in burnishit golde ;35
                        
                        But alle wals nevir golde that shonne.36
                        His saddyl clothe wauffit in the wynde,37
                        
                        With golden tassillis coverit o’er ;38
                        
                        His steide he caperit lyke ane hynde,39
                        
                        And rerit with his brodeside before.40
                        And quhan he rappit at Landale geite,41
                        
                        No porter sterne wals to be seine ;42
                        
                        But ane prettye May came to the yette,43
                        
                        And the blynke of gle wals in hir eyne.44
                        
Then the Lairde he made his horse to rere,45
                        
                        And the beiste he snortit awsomelye ;46
                        
                        “ If maydin Mariote is withynne,47
                        
                        Go bid hir speike ane worde with mee.48
                        “ For I am the mychtie Lairde of Lonne,49
                        
                        The hero of the Scottish lande ;50
                        
                        And I am comit in cortesye,51
                        
                        To claim your winsum ladyis hande.”52
                        And then he maide his horse to spang,53
                        
                        Als though he wolde not renit bee,54
                        
                        Quhille the graivell flewe lyke bullet shouris—55
                        
                        It wals ane gallante sychte to se !56
                        The mayden squelit and keikit bye,—57
                        
                        “ Och, sir !  myne leddye is at her quheele,58
                        
                        And sho moste spynne her daylie tasque,59
                        
                        Else sho and I can ne’er doo wele.60
                        “ Sho is ane pore but thryftie daime,61
                        
                        Quha workethe out her daylie breidde,62
                        
                        And hath no tyme to jaulke with ane63
                        
                        That cairryeth so hie ane heidde.64
                        “ Quhan you can worke with spaidde and shole,65
                        
                        Or dryffe ane trade of honeste faime,66
                        
                        Then come and woo myne ladye deire,67
                        
                        Till then speide back the gaite you caime.”68
                        Then the Lairde of Lonne, he thochte it goode,69
                        
                        To take this connyng May’s avyse,70
                        
                        For ane womyn workyng for her breidde71
                        
                        For him to wedde would not be wyse.72
                        So he turnit his horsis heidde about,73
                        
                        Quha neither spangit nor caperit nowe,74
                        
                        But the plomis upon the Lairdis helmette,75
                        
                        They noddit dourlye ower his browe.76
                        Then hee has gone to the Lorde of Marche,77
                        
                        And hee has toulde him all his taille ;78
                        
                        And that goode lorde hee laughit at him,79
                        
                        Quhile bothe his sydis were lyke to faille.80
                        Quod hee,  “ It wals the May herselle,81
                        
                        I know it-by her saucye saye ;82
                        
                        But go you back and courte her welle,83
                        
                        She may notte, can notte saye you naye.84
                        “ And scho has Landale touir and toune,85
                        
                        Whitfielde, and Kelle, and Halsyngtonne86
                        
                        Her very tythe of yearly rentis87
                        
                        Wolde purchesse all the landis of Lonne.”88
                        The Lairde he mountit his gallant steidde,89
                        
                        And staitlye on his saddyll sette,90
                        
                        He nevit styntit the lycht galloppe91
                        
                        Untille he came to the Landale yette.92
                        
He gaif his steidde untill ane manne,93
                        
                        And staitely strade into the halle,94
                        
                        Resolvit to win that ladye fayre,95
                        
                        And her brode landis the best of alle.96
                        And there he stode, and there he strode,97
                        
                        And often sent he benne his naime ;98
                        
                        But all that hee could saye or doo,99
                        
                        They wolde not bidde him to the daime.100
                        For the mirrye May she jinkit and jeerit,101
                        
                        And the oulde foteman. gyrnit amaine,102
                        
                        But the Lairde hee wolde not mofe one fote,103
                        
                        But manfullye hee did remaine.104
                        At length May Mariote she caime downe,105
                        
                        Lyke ane brychte aingelle comit fro hevin,106
                        
                        And askit howe he daurit intrude107
                        
                        Into a maydenis bower at evin ?108
                        Quod he,  “ Myne deire and comelye daime,109
                        
                        I hidder come to maike demande110
                        
                        Of quhat is welle myne rychte to aske,111
                        
                        Youre maydene herte but and your hande.112
                        “ For I am the hero of fayre Scotlande,113
                        
                        No knychte can stande before myne armis,114
                        
                        And welle it suittes the fayreste daime115
                        
                        To yielde the hero up hir charmis.”116
                        “ If you be the hero of fair Scotlande,117
                        
                        Then woe to Scotlande and to mee !118
                        
                        There is not ane manne on all myne lande119
                        
                        But wald thwacke youre hyde most hertilye.120
                        “ You haif caipperit at the tourneymentis,121
                        
                        And broken ane speire in ladyis sychte ;122
                        
                        But there is not ane knychte of nobyl blode123
                        
                        With gladdyautter bowis to fycht.124
                        “ To mete our meaneste Borderer’s mychte,125
                        
                        The menne whose daylie worke is stryffe,126
                        
                        Walde let you knowe quhat fychting is,127
                        
                        And plie youre helis for dethe or lyffe.”128
                        The Lairde he trampit with his footte,129
                        
                        Qubill all the hallis of Landale rung ;130
                        
                        “ Madame,” quod he,  “ were you ane manne,131
                        
                        You sholde repente youre wyckede tongue.132
                        “ There is myne pledge, now taike it up133
                        
                        Als franklye als you se it throwne,134
                        
                        And if you haif ane hero in fayre Scotlande,135
                        
                        I pledge myne lyff to bryng him downe !”136
                        “I lift the gauntlet,” said the dame,137
                        
                        “ To-morrowe come to thyne dejeune,138
                        
                        And pass you furthe to este or weste,139
                        
                        Or northe or southe, als sutis thyne tune,140
                        
“ And the firste manne thou meitest with,141
                        
                        Give him ane challenge manfullye,142
                        
                        And fycht him on the very spotte,143
                        
                        Then come and tell the news to me.144
                        “ If thou canst pees the first two downe,145
                        
                        Either on horsbacke or on footte,146
                        
                        I pledge myne mayden courtesye147
                        
                        To listen to thyne honeste suitte.148
                        “ You lyttil knowe the Mers-mennis myclite,149
                        
                        Bredde unto battyllis deadlyest blee ;150
                        
                        There is not ane manne on all myne lande151
                        
                        Quha will not bryng you to-your kne.”152
                        Then the Lairde pullit off his fedderit cappe,153
                        
                        And thryce he wafit it rounde his heidde,154
                        
                        And he utterit soche ane lordlye shoutte155
                        
                        Als neirlye strak that ladye deidde.156
                        “ Hurrah !”  cryit hee,  “ for lucky mee !157
                        
                        Now let the skaithe go with the skorne ;158
                        
                        The fayrest May in all the Southe,159
                        
                        And hir braid landis, are myne the morne !160
                        The Lairde he came to his dejeune,161
                        
                        And loudde he braggit of his weire ;162
                        
                        But soche ane bleze of wycked wytte163
                        
                        The herte of manne did nevir beire.164
                        The Lairde then mountyd his gallante steidde,165
                        
                        And forth unto the weste rode hee,166
                        
                        Quhere he wals aware of ane beggir manne167
                        
                        Comyng slowlye slodgyng ower the le.168
                        Then the Lairde he thochtis unto himselle,169
                        
                        “ This is the warke will nevir doo,170
                        
                        If I sholde fycht ane beggir manne,171
                        
                        For lyffe I’shall haif cause to rooe.172
                        “ But yet it wals hir stricke beheste,173
                        
                        And myssing him I losse myne ple,174
                        
                        Bot to bryng downe ane leille aulde manne175
                        
                        Befyttis not herois courtysye.”176
                        The beggir hee came loutchyng on,177
                        
                        His heidde it shoke, his steppe wals fraille,178
                        
                        His sholderis bendyt lyke ane bowe,179
                        
                        His berde wals lyke ane quhyte meris taille.180
                        He had wallettis behynde, and wallettis before,181
                        
                        That waggit about him wondyr welle,182
                        
                        But quhat wals in his clouttit bonnette183
                        
                        There wals no bodye knawit but the beggir himselle.184
                        He pullit off his bennette unto the Lairde,185
                        
                        And speirit ane aumousse churlishlye,186
                        
                        Then the Lairde gave him ane twalpennye piece187
                        
                        With ane aire of mycht and maijestye.188
                        
And then he turnit him rounde aboutte,189
                        
                        Saying,  “ Tell to mee, thou beggir knaiffe,190
                        
                        Didst thou evir fychte in felde of blode,191
                        
                        Or battyll ane foemanne hande to glaiffe ?”192
                        “ Yes, I haif fouchte in syngill fychte,193
                        
                        And in the fronte of battyll keinne,194
                        
                        And I haif stode on felde of blode,195
                        
                        Quhere gossyp like thee durste not be seinne.”196
                        “ Quhat wolde you thynke, then, beggir knaiffe,197
                        
                        With me to trie your mettyll here ?”198
                        
                        “ Deil taik the hindmoste,” the beggir sayit,199
                        
                        “ If I had borrowit the mylleris mere.”200
                        Then the beggir hee gotte the mylleris mere,201
                        
                        Als goode ane beigle als beggir colde hae,202
                        
                        His bryddle wals the hayre helterre,203
                        
                        His saddyll wals the sonke of strae.204
                        But soche ane bordlye warriour maike205
                        
                        Ne’er dashyt forthe to dedis of weire ;206
                        
                        He semyt to wax in size and shaippe207
                        
                        Quhan mountit on the mylleris mere.208
                        He had walletis behynde, and walletis before,209
                        
                        And walletis out ower his sholderis had hee ;210
                        
                        You mychte als welle perce ane packe of wole,211
                        
                        Als trie to perce his fayre bodye.212
                        He keipit his pykit staffe on hie,213
                        
                        And nee on, and eryit  “ Wellhee !”  214
                        
                        And his walletis waifit like twentye wyngis,215
                        
                        That evin ane feirsome sychte wals hee ;216
                        But the Lairdis horse colde not stande the sychte,217
                        
                        His very soulle did quaike for dreidde,218
                        
                        For he reirit and snortit lyke ane quhale,219
                        
                        And neirlye fellit his maister deidde.220
                        And or the beggir rechit the grounde,221
                        
                        Be fortye ellis, als I herit saye,222
                        
                        The horse, in spytte of bytte and spurre,223
                        
                        Quhelit off, and fledde lyke fire awaye.224
                        But the mylleris mere wals ane mere of breide,225
                        
                        And better mere nor myller behofit ;226
                        
                        For all the warre-steidis horryd dreidde,227
                        
                        Ane fleiter better yaude sho provit :228
                        For the beggir pursuit, shoutyng  “ Wellhee !”229
                        
                        And harde came on the battyll steidde,230
                        
                        Then he wanne the Lairde ane sturdye thwacke,231
                        
                        That dang his helmette off his heidde.232
                        And rounde and rounde the Landale touir233
                        
                        They gallopit on with mychte and mayne,234
                        
                        Quhille May Mariote and all hir maydis235
                        
                        Lauchit als they nevir lauchit agayne.236
                        
And rounde and rounde the-Landale touir237
                        
                        The Lairde and his pursuer flewe ;238
                        
                        And the walletis daddit rounde and rounde,239
                        
                        And raisit the stoure at every hewe.240
                        And many a hard and hevvye knolle241
                        
                        Felle on the rumpe of the warre steidde,242
                        
                        Whilom the braiffe Tees gronit and ranne,243
                        
                        Holdyng out his taille, and eke his heidde.244
                        Then wolde the beggir quhele aboutte,245
                        
                        To meite the Lairdis horse faice to faice ;246
                        
                        But the horse no sooner the beggir sawe,247
                        
                        Than spite of dethe he turnit the chaice,248
                        And rounde and rounde the Landale touir,249
                        
                        For the outter gatis were barrit amayne ;250
                        
                        And soche ane chaice in soche ane plaice,251
                        
                        Ladye shall nevir behoulde againe.252
                        Till the Lairde, in black despaire and rage,253
                        
                        Flung himselle fercely fro his steidde,254
                        
                        Then threwe the bryddle fro his graspe,255
                        
                        Swearyng to bee the beggiris deidde.256
                        But footte to footte, and hande to hande,257
                        
                        The beggir mette him gallantlye ;258
                        
                        At the first buffe the beggir gatte,259
                        
                        The stoure lyke ane snowe-dryfte did flee,260
                        
                        And it flewe intille the Lairdis two eyne,261
                        
                        Till feinte ane styme the Lairde colde se.262
                        But whidder it came fro pepper pocke,263
                        
                        Or beggiris pouche, hee colde not telle,264
                        
                        But it wals als hotte and sharpe to beir,265
                        
                        Als asches fro the graitte of helle.266
                        Then the beggir he lauchit ane wycked lauche,267
                        
                        Als the Lairde he jumpit lyke ane possessit,268
                        
                        And the beggir had nothyng more to doo269
                        
                        But to laye on als lykit him best.270
                        Hee thwackit the Lairde, and hee daddit the Lairde,271
                        
                        And hee clouttit him quhille in wofull plychte.272
                        
                        “ You gaif me ane aumouss,” the beggir sayit,273
                        
                        “ So I’ll not taike thyne lyffe outrychte.274
                        “ But betydde mee weille, betydde mee wo,275
                        
                        Thyne glyttering garbe shalle go with mee,276
                        
                        To teche thee challynge ane hombil beggir,277
                        
                        Quha wals not trobyling thyne nor thee.”278
                        He tyrelit the Lairde unto the boffe,279
                        
                        And buskit himselle in his fynerye,280
                        
                        Then beltyd on his nobyl brande,281
                        
                        And wow but ane jollye beggir wals hee !282
                        But he lefte the Lairde his pykit kente,283
                        
                        His powlderit duddis, and pockis of meille—284
                        
                        Och !  nevir wals wooir so harde bestedde,285
                        
                        Or ane hauchtye herte broughte downe so weille !286
                        
He hathe clothit himselle in the beggiris duddis,287
                        
                        No oder remede had hee the whylle,288
                        
                        But his horse wold not lette him come neirre—289
                        
                        No, not wythin ane half a mylle.290
                        But quherre he fledde, or quherre he spedde,291
                        
                        I nevir colde lerne with all myne lore,292
                        
                        But hee nevir sette uppe his faice agayne,293
                        
                        And nevir wals seine in Scotlande more.294
                        But wo be to that May Mariote !295
                        
                        Quhatis to be wonne at womanis hande !296
                        
                        For sho has wedded that beggir knaiffe,297
                        
                        And maide him lorde of alle hir lande !298
                        For quha wals hee but the Knychte of Home,299
                        
                        The dreade of all the Border boundis,300
                        
                        Quham that connying May had warnyt weille301
                        
                        To watche the Lairde in alle his roundis.302
                        And the pretendit mylleris mere303
                        
                        Wals the ae best beste that evir wals born ;304
                        
                        Oft had sho broke the English rankis,305
                        
                        And laid theyre leideris all forlorne.306
                        May nevir ane braggarde bruike the glaive307
                        
                        That beste befyttis ane nobyll hande—308
                        
                        And everye lovir losse the daime309
                        
                        Who goes hir favour to commande !310
                        *⁎*  The hero of this legend seems to have been Sir Alexander, the tenth knight 
of Home ; for, on consulting the registers of that family, I find that he was married
to Mariote, or Marriotta, sole daughter and heiress of Landale of Landale, in the
county of Berwick.
                     
                     
                     
                     
                     of Home ; for, on consulting the registers of that family, I find that he was married
to Mariote, or Marriotta, sole daughter and heiress of Landale of Landale, in the
county of Berwick.