The mule ran straight at the next horse, and then at the next again, but all of them scampered off at his approach, and left him master of the field; on which he turned two or three times sullenly round, throwing himself up behind and down before. The friar's wrath was somewhat diverted by the shouts of laughter from his scattered compeers, and he only smiled grimly as he said to his contumacious beast,--"Thou art even a perverse and an evil one; nevertheless thou hast been to me a beast for these many years, and hast borne me in distant pilgrimages, through many perils and dangers; and I will not act the part of the son of Bosor: peradventure thou mayest amend thy ways and do some credit to old age." The laird in his escape gallopped by the forlorn poet; who, raising up his head, and perceiving the plight of the dismayed and unoffensive wight, scouring off with the one thigh naked and bleeding, burst out into a hysteric giggle between laughing and crying, and repeated some scraps of old rhyme no way connected with the incident. The attention of the party was now turned to him, and the friar's as much as any, who enquired with great simplicity, "My brother, why was thine arm lifted up against me?" The bard was dreadfully abashed, and out of countenance; and he only answered in rhymes, of which none of them could make any thing: "His arm was strong, and his heart was stout, And he broke the tower and he got out; Then the king he was an angry man, And an angry man was he, And he said, "Go, lock him in prison strong, And hunger him till he dee. "That was a hard weird, was it not? Ha-ha! there be many such; for "He had his wale of seven sisters, Of lith, and lire, and limb so fair; But the loathly dame of the Hazelrig, She ruined his peace for evermair." "Lo, my son," answered the friar, "thy thoughts are wandering in a wilderness. I only ask thee wherein I have offended thee. For as mine hand is, so is mine heart; and, as my soul liveth, I know not in what respect I have done thee wrong." "I have not done thee wrong, fair May, I have not done thee wrong, But the cup of death has passed my lips, And my life will not be long. "No, no; dame Delany, you need not bathe my temples. I am not raving. I am not even hurt. The mischievous beast made my horse throw me, but I am nothing the worse." The friar, not being able to make any thing of the poet himself, applied to the rest, and was soon informed by Tam, that "he was overheard trying to gar the lassie learn the black art, and courting her to nae good; and the poet grew jealous, and was for being revenged."