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The Eight Muſe.
85
Nor any horse should overtake him there,
But yet his sprite deceav'd him by a mare,
And by a man was not of woman borne
For brave Makduff was from his mother shorne.[1]
Makduff cald Thane of Fife, who home did bring
King Malcolme Kenmore was our native King.
Ken-more, great-head, a great-head should be wise,
To bring to nought a Nimrods enterprise!
Up to Dunsinnen's top then did we clim,
With panting heart, weak loynes, and wearied limme,
And from the mountains height, which was well windie,
We spy where Wallace cave was at Kilspindie[2].
But there we might not stay, thence to the plaine
With swifter pace we do come down againe.
Descent is easie, any man can tell;
For men do easelie descend to Hell.
When we had view'd these fields both heere and there,
As wearied Pilgrims gan we Home to fair;
Home, happie is that word, at Home in Heaven,
Where Gall now rests above the Planets seven,
And I am left this wretched Earth upon,
Thy losse, with all my Gabions, to bemoane:
Then mourne with me my Gabions, and cry,
Gall, sweetest Gall, what ailed thee to die?
But yet his sprite deceav'd him by a mare,
And by a man was not of woman borne
For brave Makduff was from his mother shorne.[1]
Makduff cald Thane of Fife, who home did bring
King Malcolme Kenmore was our native King.
Ken-more, great-head, a great-head should be wise,
To bring to nought a Nimrods enterprise!
Up to Dunsinnen's top then did we clim,
With panting heart, weak loynes, and wearied limme,
And from the mountains height, which was well windie,
We spy where Wallace cave was at Kilspindie[2].
But there we might not stay, thence to the plaine
With swifter pace we do come down againe.
Descent is easie, any man can tell;
For men do easelie descend to Hell.
When we had view'd these fields both heere and there,
As wearied Pilgrims gan we Home to fair;
Home, happie is that word, at Home in Heaven,
Where Gall now rests above the Planets seven,
And I am left this wretched Earth upon,
Thy losse, with all my Gabions, to bemoane:
Then mourne with me my Gabions, and cry,
Gall, sweetest Gall, what ailed thee to die?
The