Ytte wes a mirke an dreiry cave,
Weet scroggis owr ytte creepe.
Gurgles withyn ye flowan wave
Throw channel braid an deep
Never withyn that dreir recesse
Wes sene ye lyghte of daye,
Quhat bode azont yts mirkinesse
Nane kend an nane mote saye.
Ye monarche rade owr brake an brae
An drave ye yellynge packe,
Hiz meany au' richte cadgily
Are wendynge yn hiz tracke.
Wi' eager iye, wi' yalpe an crye
Ye hondes yode down ye rocks,
Ahead of au' their companye
Renneth ye panky foxe.
Ye foxe hes soughte that cave of awe
Forewearied wi' hiz rin.
Quha nou ys he sae bauld an braw
To dare to enter yn?
Wi' eager bounde hes ilka honde
Gane till that caverne dreir,
Fou many a yowl ys hearde arounde,
Fou many a screech of feir.
Like ane wi' thirstie appetite
Quha swalloweth orange pulp,
Wes hearde a huggle an a bite,
A swallow an a gulp.
Ye kynge hes lap frae aff hiz steid,
Outbrayde hiz trenchant brande;
“Quha on my packe of hondes doth feed,
Maun deye benead thilke hande.”
Sae sed, sae dune: ye stonderes hearde
Fou many a mickle stroke,
Sowns lyke ye flappynge of a birde,
A struggle an a choke.
Owte of ye cave scarce fette they ytte,
Wi pow an push and hau' —
Whereof Y've drawne a littel bytte,
Bot durst not draw ytte au.