Well I don’t know how good your Middle Scottish is, but this is the tale of Gyre Carling, a giant witch /earth mother /that sort of thing. It’s not for the delicate minded.
In Tyberius tyme, the trew imperatour,
Quhen Tynto hills fra skraiping of tour-henis was keipit,
Thair dwelt ane grit Gyre Carling in awld Betokis bour,
That levit upoun Christiane menis flesche, and rewheids unleipit ;
Thair wynit ane hir by, on the west syde, callit Blasour,
For luve of hir Iauchane lippis he walit and he weipit ;
He gadderit ane menzie of modwartis to warp doun the tour;
The Carling with ane yren club, quhen yat Blasour sleipit,
Behind the heil scho hat him sic ane blaw,
Quhil Blasour bled ane quart
Off milk pottage inwart,
The Carling luche, and lut fart
North Berwik Law.
.. from which I gather her neighbour fancied her and sent some moles to undermine her house – but she bashed him over the head and laughed so much she farted out North Berwick Law. Ahem.
The rest of the anonymous poem is written in the ‘Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border’ by Sir Walter Scott, online at the Tam Lin pages:
tam-lin.org/texts/scott.html