Lewis Carroll’s “Ye Falltale Cheyse”

Ytte wes a mirke an dreiry cave,

Weet scroggis owr ytte creepe.

Grugles withyn ye flowan wave

Throw channel draid an deep


Never withyn that dreir recesse

Wes sene ye lyghte of daye,

Quhat bode azont yts mirkinesse

Nane kend an nane mote saye.


Ye monarche rade owr brake an brae

An drave ye yellynge packe,

Hiz meany au’ richte cadgily

Are wendynge yn hiz tracke.


Wi’ eager iye, wi’ yalpe an cry

Ye hondes yode down ye rocks,

Ahead of au’ their companye

Renneth ye panky foxe.


Ye foxe hes soughte that cave of awe

Forewearied wi’ hiz rin.

Quha nou ys he sae bauld an braw

To dare to enter yn?


Wi’ eager bounde hes ilka honde

Gane till that caverne dreir,

Fou many a yowl ys hearde arounde,

Fou many a screech of feir.


Like ane wi’ thirstie appetite

Quha swalloweth orange pulp,

Wes hearde a huggle an a bite,

A swallow an a gulp.


Ye kynge hes lap frae aff hiz steid,

Outbrayde hiz trenchant brande;

“Quha on my packe of hondes doth feed,

Maun deye benead thilke hande.”


Sae sed, sae dune: ye stonderes hearde

Fou many a mickle stroke,

Sowns lyke ye flappynge of a birde,

A struggle an a choke.


Owte of ye cave scarce fette they ytte,

Wi pow an push an hau’–

Whereof Y’ve drawne a littel bytte,

Bot durst not draw ytte au.


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