Quha dais not knaw the Maitland bluid,
The best in all this land?
In quhilk sumtyme the honour stuid
And worship of Scotland.
Of auld Sir Richard, of that name,
We have hard sing and say;
Of his triumphant nobill fame,
And of his auld baird gray.
And of his nobill sonnis three,
Quhilk that tyme had no maik;
Quhilk maid Scotland renounit be,
And all England to quaik.
Quhais luifing praysis, maid trewlie,
Efter that simple tyme,
Ar sung in monie far countrie,
Albeit in rural rhyme.
And, gif I dar the treuth declair,
And nane me fleitschour call,
I can to him find a compair,
And till his barnis all.
It is a curious circumstance, that this interesting tale, so often
referred to by ancient authors, should be now recovered in so perfect
a state; and many readers may be pleased to see the following sensible
observations, made by a person, born in Ettrick Forest, in the humble
situation of a shepherd. "I am surprised to hear, that this song is
suspected by some to be a modern forgery; the contrary will be best
proved, by most of the old people, hereabouts, having a great part
of it by heart. Many, indeed, are not aware of the manners of this
country; till this present age, the poor illiterate people, in these
glens, knew of no other entertainment, in the long winter nights, than
repeating, and listening to, the feats of their ancestors, recorded in
songs, which I believe to be handed down, from father to son, for many
generations; although, no doubt, had a copy been taken, at the end of
every fifty years, there must have been some difference, occasioned
by the gradual change of language.
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