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Thocht ye be hamelie * with the king,
Ye Luffra, Scudlar, and Bawtie,
Be war that ye do nocht doun thring,
Your nichtbouris throw auctoritie :
And your exempill mak be me,
And beleve weill ye ar bot doggis.
Thocht ye stand in the hyest gre,
Se ye byte nother lambis, nor hoggis.

Thocht ye have now greit audience,
Se that be yow be nane opprest;
Ye will be punischit for your offence,
From tyme the king be weill confest ; 6
Thare is na dog, that hes transgrest,
Throw crueltie, and he may fang him ; 7
His majestie will tak na rest,
Till on ane gallous he gar hang him.

I was anis als far ben 8 as ye ar,
And had in court als greit credence,
And ay pretendit to be hyar;
Bot, quhen the kingis excellence,
Did knaw my falset, and offence,
And my prydefull presumptioun,
I gat nane uther recompence,
Bot hoyit, and houndit, of the town.'

1 Fright.
2 Throw.
3 Deserve.

4 Familiar.
5 Highest degree.
6 Well informed.

i If he can catch him. 8 I was once as much in favour. 9 Hooted, and hunted out of the town.

Was never sa unkynd ane corce,
As quhen I had auctoritie :
Of my freindis, I tuke na force, a
The qubilkis afore had done for me,
This proverb, it is of veritie,
Quhilk I hard red, intill ane letter,
Hiest in court, next the widdie,3
Without he gyde him all the better.

I tuke na mair compt of ane lord,
Nor I did of ane keitching knaif,
Thocht everilk day I maid discord,
I was set up above the laif,5
The gentill hound was to me slaif,
And with the kingis awin fingeris fed,
The sillie rachis 6 wald I raif;?
Thus, for my evill deidis, was I dred :

Tharesor, Bawtie, luke best about,
Quhen thow art hiest with the king ;
For than thou standis in greitest dout,
Be thow nocht gude of governing,
Put na pure tyke from his steiding, 8
Nor yit na sillie rachis raif;
He sittis above that seis all thing,
And of ane knicht can make ane knaif.

Quhen I cam steppand ben o the flure,
All rachis greit roume to me red ; 10
I of na creature tuke cure,
Bot lap upon the kingis bed,
With claith of gold, thocht it war spred;
For feir, ilk freik 11 wald stand on far,
With everilk dog I was so dred,
Thay trimblit quhen thay hard me nar.12


3 Gallows. 1 Body; person.

4 Kitchen boy; servant. 5 Above the rest.

8 Place. 6 Hounds. 7 Rob; plunder. 9 When I stepped forward. 10 All the hounds gave me plenty of room. il Fellow.

12 Snarl.

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i No little dog rob. 2 Chase no poor dog from his dunghill, or place of repose.

3 Artifice.

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This poem doubtless portrays the courtier, under an assumed likeness of one of his most opposite contrasts-the dog. It shows the estimation of James for the latter, and the close companion he made of him ere one as faithful in nature succeeded. It may be regarded as a kind of fable. Lyndsay's own motto, “ I’Ayme,” is more expressive of the dog


William Robert Spencer.

Bowles, truly said, that the poetical world had seldom seen anything more pleasing and elegant on the dog than William Spencer's Ballad of ‘Beth Gelert.' “ The story of this ballad

| Fear; doubt; dread.

2 Person.

4 Curse. 3 Wilful in opinion; bewildered ; lost as to the futurė. 5 Thought. 6 Caused. 7 Given to evil deeds. 8 Swing in a halter.

is traditionary in a village at the foot of Snowdon, where Llewelyn the Great had a house. The greyhound, named Gêlert, was given him by his father-in-law, King John, in the year 1205, and the place, to this day, is called Beth-Gelert, or the Grave of Gêlert.”



The spearmen heard the bugle sound,

And cheerly smild the morn ;
And many a brach, and many a houud,

Obey'd Llewelyn's horn.

And still he blew a louder blast,

And gave a lustier cheer ; “Come, Gêlert, come, wert never last

Llewelyn's horn to hear.

Oh where does faithful Gelert roam,

The flower of all his race;
So true, so brave, a lamb at home,

"A lion in the chase ?'

'Twas only at Llewelyn's board

The faithful Gelert fed; He watch’d, he served, he cheer'd his Lord,

And sentinel'd his bed.

In sooth he was a peerless hound,

The gift of royal John;
But now no Gêlert could be found,

And all the chase rode on.

And now, as o'er the rocks and dells

The gallant chidings rise,
All Snowdon's craggy chaos yells

The many-mingled cries!

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