NORTHERN MEMOIRS. 73 



the crage I tro, than with a grip ore his luggs 

 we my ene hand : I tro, Ise hold him a bit ; 

 an, for au his struggle, Ise mar his march to sea 

 any mare. Come ben, me joes, and won awaugh. 

 Span yar groond ore this silly bourn ; Ise pre 

 it and prieve it ; it's guid enogh : Come awaw, 

 folio me now. Whelk way won ye, ken ye 

 I tro ? Guid fa, sirs, yar misleard ; won away 

 thick way, mare and mare yet to thick hond ; for 

 an the quick sands get a grip au yor nagg's 

 shakle bene, gude fa, sirs, heel womble doun the 

 bourn, an whar are ye then ? But au's weel 

 enof now ; for now ye treed on bonnie Scotish 

 grond. 



Theoph. I know not what ground it is, nor 

 what to call it ; but this I know, that I'm glad 

 we can welcome our selves on this side danger. 

 What think you, Arnoldus, have not we made 

 an eminent exchange, to truck a southern rose 

 for a northern thistle ? Farewel, Old England ; 

 I shall venerate thy memory, and thy fertile 

 medows, and never forget thy florid fields that 

 glut the sithe, nor thy fragrant gardens that per- 

 fume the air. 



Arn. And welcome Scotland, I say ; for this 

 night I purpose to lodg in Dumfreez. But 

 who must carry our impliments and our fish ? 



Theoph. Let us catch 'em first, and then con- 

 sider their portage. 



