Of Sir Thomas Norray

Now lythis of ane gentill Knycht,
Schir Thomas Norray, wyse and wicht
And full of chivalrie ;
Quhais father was ane Grand Keyne,
His mother was ane Farie Queyne,
Gottin be sossery.

Ane fairer knycht nor he was ane,
On ground may nother ryd nor gang,
Na beir bucklar nor brand ;
Or cum in this court but dreid ;
He did full mony valȝeant deid
In Roiss, and Murray land.

Full many catherein hes he cheist,
And cummered mony Helland gaist,
Amang thai dully glennis :
Off the Glen Quhettane twenti scoir
He drawe as oxin him befoir ;
This deid thocht na man kennis.

At feistis and brydallis wpaland,
He wan the gre, and the garland ;
Danceit non so on deiss :
He hes att warslingis beine ane hunder,
Ȝett lay his body nevir at wnder :
He knawis gif this be leiss.

Was never vyld- Robeine wnder bewch,
Nor ȝet Roger of Clekkinsklewch,
So bauld a bairne as he ;
Gy of Gysbume, na Allan Bell,
Na Simones sonnes of Quhynfell,
At schot war nevir so slie.

This anterouss knycht, quhaire ever he vent,
At justinge, and at tornament,
Evir moir he wan the gre ;
Was never of halff so gryt renoun
Schir Bevis the knycht of South Hamptoun :
I shrew him gif I lie.

Thairfoir Quhentyne was bot ane lurdane,
That callit him ane full plum Jurdane,
This wyse and worthie knycht ;
He callit him foullar than ane fuill,
He said he was ane licheruss bull,
That croynd bayth day and nycht.

He wald have maid him Curris knaiff ;
I pray God better his honour saiff,
Na to be lichtleit sua !
Ȝett this far furth I dar him prais,
He fyld never sadell in his dais ;
And Curry befyld tua.

Quhairfoir, ever at Pasche and ȝull,
I cry him Lord of everie fuill,
That in this regioun dwellis ;
And, verralie, that war gryt rycht :
For, of ane hy renowned knycht,
He wantis no thing bot bellis.

Quod Dumbar.