As I was walking all alane, I heard twa corbies making a mane; The tane unto the tother say, 'Where sall we gang and dine to-day?' 'In behint yon auld fail dye, I wot there lies a new-slain knight; And naebody kens that he lies there, But his hawk, his hound, and his lady fair. 'His hound is to the hunting gane, His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame, His lady's ta'en another mate, So we may mak our dinner sweet.'
It is nought good a slepyng hound to wake.
They were the footprints of a gigantic hound!
'A chain of gold ye sall not lack, Nor braid to bind your hair; Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk, Nor palfrey fresh and fair.'
The horse loves the hound, and I loves both.
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