disposed of some one way, and some another, twenty and thirty miles, and more than enough left for us to make merry withal at our rendezvous. I liked the sport so well, that I made these two sonnets following. Why should I waste invention to indite, _Ovidian_ fictions, or Olympian games? My misty Muse enlightened with more light, To a more noble pitch her aim she frames. I must relate to my great Master JAMES, The Caledonian annual peaceful war; How noble minds do eternize their fames, By martial meeting in the Brae of _Mar_: How thousand gallant spirits came near and far, With swords and targets, arrows, bows, and guns, That all the troop to men of judgment, are The God of Wars great never conquered sons, The sport is manly, yet none bleed but beasts, And last the victor on the vanquished feasts. If sport like this can on the mountains be, Where _Phoebus_ flames can never melt the snow; Then let who list delight in vales below, Sky-kissing mountains pleasure are for me: What braver object can man's eyesight see, Than noble, worshipful, and worthy wights, As if they were prepared for sundry fights, Yet all in sweet society agree? Through heather, moss, 'mongst frogs, and bogs, and fogs, 'Mongst craggy cliffs, and thunder-battered hills, Hares, hinds, bucks, roes, are chased by men and dogs, Where two hours hunting fourscore fat deer kills. Lowland, your sports are low as is your seat, The Highland games and minds, are high and great. Being come to our lodgings, there was such baking, boiling, roasting, and stewing, as if Cook Ruffian had been there to have scalded the devil in his feathers: and after supper a fire of fir-wood as high as an indifferent May-pole: for I assure you, that the Earl of _Mar_ will give any man that is his friend, for thanks, as many fir trees (that are as good as any ship's masts in England) as are worth if they were in any place near the Thames, or any other portable river) the best earldom in England or Scotland either: For I dare affirm, he hath as many growing there, as would serve for masts (from this time to the end of the world) for all the ships, caracks, hoys, galleys, boats, drumlers, barks, and water-crafts, that are now, or can be in the world these forty years. This sounds like a lie to an unbeliever; but I and many thousands do know that I speak within the compass of truth: for indeed (the more is the pity) they do grow so far from any passage of water, and withal in such rocky mountains, that no way to convey them is possible to be passable, either with boat, horse, or cart.