The horses were soon put up, for every one seemed more anxious than another to get first in to the cheek of Jock Robson's ingle, and have his seat placed next to that of Delany; but the poet being the most agile, and not the least amorous of the group, effected this greatly to his satisfaction. CHAPTER XI. The youngest turned him in a path, And drew a buirdly brande, And fifteen of the foremost slewe, Till back the lave couthe stande. Then he spurred the grey unto the path, Till baith her sides they bledde; "Now, grey, if thou carry nae me away My life it lies in wedde." _Ballad of Auld Maitland._ We must pass over a great part of the conversation that evening, in order to get forward to the more momentous part of the history of our embassy. Suffice it to say, that the poet was in high glory, and not only delivered himself in pure iambics, but sung several love ditties, and one song of a foray, that pleased Charlie Scott mightily. But Isaac, the curate, has only given a fragment of it, which runs thus: If you will meet me on the Dirdam waste, Merry man mint to follow; I'll start you the deer, and lead you the chace, With a whoop, and a whoo, and a hollo! The deer that you'll see, has horns enow, &c. Marked wi' red and merled wi' blue, &c. And that deer he will not turn his tail For the stoutest hinds that range the dale. Come then, driver, in gear bedight; Come bold yeoman, and squire, and knight; The wind soughs loud on craig and heuch, And the linn rowts loud in the Crookside cleuch; Nor tramp of steed, nor jingle of spear, Will ever be heard by the southern deer: The streamer is out, and the moon away, And the morning starn will rise or day. Then mount to the stirrup, and scour the fell, Merry man mint to follow; And over the muir, and the dean, and the dell, With a whoop, and a whoo, and a hollo! * * * * * * * * * * "Thy words and thy song, young man," said the friar, "are like sounding brass and a tinkling cymbal; if laid in the balance, they are lighter than vanity." "Yours will not prove so," said the poet, "provided you are laid in with them; for, as the old song says,-- 'His wit is but weak, father; His gifts they are but sma'; But the bouk that's under his breast bane, It grieves me warst of a.'" "If thou singest this nonsense of me," said the friar, "lo, I will smite thee upon the mouth; yea, upon the cheek-bone will I smite thee, till thine eyes shall gush out like two fountains of waters." And so saying, he began to look about him for some missile weapon to throw at the bard's face, his breast burning with indignation,--for he loved not the tenor of the poet's conversation to the maid.