The Wowing of the King quhen he wes in Dumfermeling

This hindir nycht in Dumfermeling,
To me wes tawld ane windir thing ;
That lait ane tod wes with ane lame,
And with hir playit, and maid gude game,
Syne till his breist did hir imbrace,
And wald haif riddin hir lyk ane rame :
And that me thocht ane ferly cace.

He braisit hir bony body sweit,
And halsit hir with his fordir feit ;
Syne schuk his taill, with quhinge and ȝelp,
And todlit with hir lyk ane quhelp ;
Syne lowrit on growfe and askit grace ;
And ay the lame cryd, Lady, help !
And that me thocht ane ferly cace.

The tod wes nowder lene nor skowry,
He wes ane lusty reid haird lowry,
Ane lang taild beist and grit with all ;
The silly lame wes all to small
To sic ane tribbill to hald ane bace :
Scho fled him nocht ; ffair mot hir fall !
And that me thocht ane ferly cace.

The tod wes reid, the lame wes quhyte,
Scho wes ane morsall of delyte ;
He lovit na ȝowis auld, twch and sklender :
Becaus this lame wes ȝung and tender,
He ran vpoun hir with a race,
And scho schup nevir for till defend hir :
And thiss me thocht ane ferly cace.

He grippit hir abowt the west,
And handlit hir as he had hest ;
This innocent that nevir trespast,
Tuke hert that scho wes handlit fast,
And lute him kiss hir lusty face ;
His girnand gamis hir nocht agast :
And that me thocht ane ferly cace.

He held hir till him be the hals,
And spak full fair thocht he wes falss ;
Syne said and swoir to hir be God,
That he suld nocht twich hir prenecod ;
The silly thing trowd him, allace !
The lame gaif creddence to the tod :
And that me thocht ane ferly cace.

I will no lesingis - put in verss,
Lyk as thir jangleris dois reherss,
Bot be quhat maner thay war mard,
Quhen licht wes owt and durris wes bard ;
I wait nocht gif he gaif hir grace,
Bot all the hollis wes stoppit hard :
And that me thocht ane ferly cace.

Quhen men dois fleit in joy maist far,
Sone cumis wo, or thay be war ;
Quhen carpand wer thir two most crowss,
The wolf he ombesett the houss,
Vpoun the tod to mak ane chace ;
The lamb than cheipit lyk a mowss :
And that me thocht ane ferly cace.

Throw hiddowis ȝowling of the wowf,
This wylie tod plat doun on growf,
And in the silly lambis skin,
He crap als far as he micht win,
And hid him thair ane weill lang space ;
The ȝowis besyd thay maid na din :
And that me thocht ane ferly cace.

Quhen of the tod wes hard no peip,
The wowf went all had bene on sleip ;
And quhill the tod had strikkin ten,
The wowf hes drest him to his den,
Protestand for the secound place :
And this report I with my pen,
How at Dumfermling fell the cace.

Quod Dumbar.