Ane littill Interlud of the Droichis part of the Play

Hiry, Hary, Hubbilschow! Sé ye not quha is cum now, Bot yit wait I nevir how With the quhirle wind? A fargeand out of Soudoun land, A gyane strang for to stand, That with the strength of my hand Bereis may bind.

Bot yit I trow that I vary, I am bot ane blynd Hary, That lang has bene with the fary Farlyis to find. And yit gif this be not I, I wait it is the spreit of Gy, Or ellis fle be the sky, And lycht as the lynd.

Quha is cum heir bot I, A bauld busteous bellomy, Amang you all to cry a cry With ane michty soun? That generit am of gyanis kynd, Fra the strong Hercules be strynd; Of all the occident and ynde My elderis woir the croun.

My foir grandsyr, hecht Fyn Mackowll, That dang the devill and gart him yowll; The skyis rainid quhen he wald yowll, He trublit all the air. He gat my gud-syr God Magog, He quhen he dansit the warld wald schog, Ten thowsand ellis yied in his frog Of Heland plaidis, and mair.

And yit he was of tendir yowth: But aftir he grew mekle at fowth, Ellevin myle wyd mett wes his mowth, His teith was ten myle squair. He wald upoun his tais upstand, And tak the starnis doun with his hand, And set thame in a gold garland Aboif his wyvis hair.

My fader, mekle Gow Macmorne, Out of his moderis wame was shorne; For littilnes scho was forlorne Siche an a kemp to beir. Or he of aige was yeiris thré He wald step over the Occraine se: The mone sprang nevir above his kné; The hevins had of him feir.

Ane thowsand yeir is past fra mynd Sen I was generit of his kynd, Far furth in the desartis of Ynd Amang lyoun and beir. Worthie King Arthour, and Gawane, And many a bawld berne of Bartane, Ar deid, and in the weiris ar slane, Sen I cowld wield a speir.

Sophie and the Sowdoun strang, With weiris that has lestit lang Owt of thair boundis has maid me gang And turn to Turky tyte. The King of Francis grit army Hes brocht in derth in Lumbardy, That in the cuntré he and I, Can nocht dwell baith perfyte.

Swadrik, Denmark, and Norraway, Nor in the Steiddis, I dar nocht ga; Thair is nothing bot and slae, Cut throppillis, and make quyte. Yrland for evir I haif reffusit; All wyis men will hald me excusit, For nevir in land quhair Eriche was usit To dwell had I delyte.

I haif bene formest evir in feild, And now sa lang I haif borne the scheild That I am crynit in for eild, This littil as ye may fie. I haif been banneist under the lynd This lang tyme that nane could me fynd, Quhill now with this last eistin wynd I am cum heir perdie.

My name is WELTH; thairfoir be blyth I am cum comfort you to kyth. Suppois wrechis will waill and wryth, All darth I fall gar dré. For certanelie the trewth to tell, I cum amang you for to dwell, Far fra the sound of Curphour bell To dwell thinks nevir me.

Now sen I am such quantitie Of gyanis cum as ye may sie, Quhair will be gottin a wyfe to me Of siclyk breid and hicht? In all this bowre is nocht a bryde Ane hour I wait, dar me abyde; Yit trow ye ony heir besyde Micht suffir me all nicht?

Adew, fareweil, for now I go; Bot I will nocht lang byd you fro. Chryst yow conserve fra every woe, Baith maidin, wyf, and man. God bliss thame and the haly rude! Givis me a drink, sa it be gude; And quha trowis best that I do lude Skink first to me the kan.