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And in Dowglas daile, his countre, Upon an evymiyng entryt he. And than a man wonnyt tharby. That was off freyndis weill mychty, And ryche of moble, and off cateill; And had bene till his fadyr leyll; And till him selff in his yowthed. He haid done mony a thankfull deid. Thom Dicson wes his name perlay. Till him he send; and gan him pray, That he wald cum all anerly For to spek with him priuely.
Tharfor the men of that countre, For swa fele thar mellyt wer, Callit it the "Dowglas Lardner." Syne tuk he salt, as Ic hard tell, And ded horss, and sordid the well. And brynt all, owtakyn stane; And is forth, with his menye, gayne Till his resett; for him thoucht weill, Giff he had haldyn the caslell, It had bene assegyt raith; And that him thoucht to mekill waith.
The castle of the Earl of Foix and the Earl himself would have seemed quite natural in the pages of a romance: "Ther was none more rejoysed in dedes of armes than the erle dyde: ther was sene in his hall, chambre, and court, knightes and squyers of honour going up and downe, and talking of armes and amours; all honour ther was found, all maner of tidyngs of every realme and countre ther might be herde, for out of every countree ther was resort, for the valyantness of this erle."
"In the fourt yeir of his regne, this nobill prince come to visie the madin Castell of Edinburgh. At this time, all the boundis of Scotland were ful of woddis, lesouris, and medois; for the countre wes more gevin to store of bestiall, than ony productioun of cornis; and about this castell was ane gret forest, full of haris, hindis, toddis, and siclike maner of beistis.
For than the folk off that countre Assemblyt at the kyrk wald be; And thai, that in the castell wer, Wald als be thar, thar palmys to ber, As folk that had na dreid off ill; For thai thoucht all wes at thair will. Than suld he cum with his twa men. Bot, for that men suld nocht him ken, He suld ane mantill haiff auld and bar, And a flaill, as he a thresscher war.
Rogers has at last restrung that fiddle and tuned it to his notion; so now for our dance!" No stately minuet or mincing cotillion was the order of the evening. Instead, the "countre dance," the "gauntlet," the "four-handed reel" old-time, energetic country dancing shook the rafters overhead, and made the puncheon floor vibrate. Such jigging, such "cutting the pigeon wing," such swinging corners!
"As for the gydyn her in thys countre it is as worchepfull as all the world can devyse it, & ther wer never Englyshe men had so good cher owt of Inglong that ever I herd of.
Undyr the mantill nocht for thi He suld be armyt priuely. And quhen the men off his countre, That suld all boune befor him be, His ensenye mycht her hym cry.
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