Malisounis on him licht,
He swoppit ane May bricht,
Sib to the king

Of this royame braid;
And doomit to the deid,

Scho is perdie Ilede,

Sua sorrowis spryng.

Sith quhen the king heris
Fra mi foirfleyit feeris
Of this cace;

Certes, baith me and myne
Schal dree moche pyne,
Quhilk makis me dwyne
And sike, alace."

Up stertit Gormalyn,

Lyk ane suche of wynd,
Fers and fellone,

"Be him that bled on tre,
This samen May schall I fre,
And the grim woulff schall die
Be mie yron."

Out syne he drawis his suerd;
And settis its poynct till the erd,
Wittand to ken

Quhat airt it mote fall,

Quhilk fallow he schall,

Qubyll he mote saif mell

Wi the woulffis der.

Furth prickit he throch the wud,

Lyk ane blak clud,

In tide tempestive,

Calland loud and hie,

On the woulff ne to flee,

Quhan fleand sikarlie,
He was belive.

Alace! in the woulffis mouth,
Borne was the mayd in trouth,
Shrikand dolore,

Hir waist jimp and smaw,
Crushit was atwixt his jaw,
And hir heid hong law
Sad thoch decore.

Hir armis saft and lyte,
And halse ivorie quhyt
Sweepit the grund.

Quhyll hir goun in the wynd,
Trailand wes behind,

Alace! sicht of sic kynd,
Nevir was fund.

Wae wes Schir Gormalyn,
Syne neir he ne win,

Albe he straive;

Eftsune his horss coupit
Quir ane roche knoupit,
To erd Gormalyn loupit,
Deliver and braive.

On feet he swyth ran
Manie ane myl of land,
Nicht and day.

Thorow day he ay saw

Hir sklendir waist in woulffis gaw,

And thorow nicht a mane law,

For mercie alwaïc.

"O for ane egillis wing!
O for ane vyperis sting!"
Quod Gormalyn.

" for ane lyounis pawe,
That this woulf mote I drawey
Lith and limb assinder sma,
And slay in fine.

Mi hert ben sair ysmote,
Be this mayis wordis swote,
Tendir and sad,

That it bene molten clene,
Fulfilland mi tua eyne,
With manie saut tene,
Of dolor and drad.

O woulff let the Ladie fre,
And ye schall haif kye thre,
Soncie and sweit.

Ilk yere as manie moe,
Scheip wi yong to throw
Schall until ye eith goe,
Trewlie I weet.

Bot hard wes the Woulfis hert,
Lyk heid of ane steel dert,
Lyte reckit hee

Of Schir Gormalyn gude,
Rampagand fell and wud,
And scuddand lyk simmer clud,
In welkin blee.

Schakand his salvage pow,
Wi bludie eyne on low,
And ane lang gowl,

Up muntanis he speelis,

Doun braes he reelis,

Wingis weren at his heelis,

Deth in his gowl

Very little more of the manuscript from which the above îs Transcribed, can be at all legible. Several stanzas seem to reate to the ingredients which composed the sovereign beverage ministered to Schir Gormalyn by his Squyer, who, we are chewhere informed, is "cunnand and lerit in al erbis of erd." From ought that can be perceived, this cordial was of a much more invigorating and wholesome description, than that which the lank jawed knight of La Mancha swallowed, after the rib Fasting he received from the Yanguesian carriers; for the Pursuit after this wolf is continued with fresh ardour, and as might be expected, becomes of no ordinary length, being intere