His neck in twa I wat they hae wrung,
Wi' hand or foot he ne'er play'd paw;
His life and his keys at anes they hae tane,
And cast his body ahind the wa'.
Now soon they reach Newcastle jail,
And to the pris'ner thus they call:
Sleips thou, wakes thou Jock o' the Side,
Or is thou wearied o' thy thrall?
Jock answers thus, wi' dolefu' tone,
Aft, aft I wake-I seldom sleip;
But wha's this kens my name sae weel,
And thus to hear my waes do seik?
Then up and spake the good laird's Jock,
Ne'er fear ye now, my billie, quo* he;
For here's the laird's Jock, the laird's Wat,
And Hobie Noble, come to set thee free.
O! Had thy tongue, and speak nae mair,
And o' thy tawk now let me be;
For if a' Liddisdale were here the night,
The morn's the day that I maun die.
Full fifteen stane o' Spanish iron
They hae laid a' right sair on me,
Wi' locks and keys I am fast bound
Into this dungeon mirk and drearie.
Fear ye no that, quo' the laird's Jock,
A faint heart ne'er wan a fair ladie,
Work thou within, we'll work without;
And I'll be bound we set thee free.
The first strong dore that they came at,
They loosed it without a key;
The next chain'd dore that they came at,
They gard it a' in flinders flee.
The pris'ner now, upo' his back,
The laird's Jock's gotten up fu' hie;
And down the stair, him irons and a',
Wi' nae sma' speed and joy brings he.
Now Jock, I wat, quo' Hobie Noble,
Part o' the weight ye may lay on me;
I wat weel no, quo' the laird's Jock,
I count him lighter than a flee.
Sae out at the gates they a' are gane,-
The pris'ner's set on horseback hie;
And now wi' speed they've tane the gate,
While ilk ane jokes fu' wantonlie.-
Oh! Jock, sae winsomely's ye ride,
Wi' baith your feet upo' ae side-
Sae weel's ye're harness'd, and sae trig,
In troth ye sit like ony bride.
The night, tho' wat, they didna mind,
But hied them on fu' mirrilie,
Until they came to Cholerford brae,
Where the water ran like mountains hie.
But when they came to Cholerford,
There they met with an auld man:
Says, Honest man will the water ride?—
Tell us in haste, if that ye can.
I wat weel no, quo' the good old man,-
Here I hae liv'd this threty yeirs and three;
And I ne'er yet saw the Tyne sae big,
Nor rinning ance sae like a sea.
and spake the laird's saft Wat, The greatest coward in the companie, Now halt, now halt-we needna try't; The day is com'd we a' maun die.
Poor faint-hearted thief, quo' the laird's Jock,
There'll nae man die but he that's fie;-
I'll lead ye a' right safely through;
Lift ye the pris'ner on ahint me.
Sae now the water they a' hae tane,
By anes and twas they a' swam through: Here are we a' safe, says the laird's Jock; And poor faint Wat, what think ye now?
They scarce the ither side had won,
When twenty men they saw pursue;
Frae Newcastle town they had been sent,
A' English lads right good and true.
But when the land-sergeant the water saw,
It winna ride my lads, quo' he;
Then out he cries, Ye the pris'ner may take;
But leave the irons, I pray, to me.
I wat weel no, cry'd the laird's Jock,
I'll keep them a'-shoon to my mare they'll be; My good grey mare, for I am sure
She's bought them a' fu' dear frae thee.
Sae now they're away for Liddisdale,
E'en as fast as they cou'd them hie;
The pris'ner's brought to his ain fire-side,
And there o's irons they make him free.
Now Jock, my billie, quo' a' the three,
The day was com❜d thou was to die;
But thou's as weel at thy ain fire-side,
Now sitting, I think 'tween thee and me.
They hae gard fill up ae punch-bowl,
And after it they maun hae anither;
And thus the night they a' hae spent,-
Just as they had been brither and brither.
Ꭱ
FOUL fa the breast first treason bred in,
That Liddisdale may safely say;
For in it there was baith meat and drink,
And corn unto our geldings gay.
We were stout hearted men and true,
As England it did often say:
But now we may turn our backs and fly,
Since brave Noble is seld away.
Now Hobie he was an English man,
And born into Bewcastle dale;
But his misdeeds they were sae great,
They banish'd him to Liddisdale.
At Kershope foot * the tryst was set-
Kershope of the lily lee:
And there was traitor Sim o' the Mains,†
With him a private companie.
Then Hobie has graith'd his body gay,
I wat it was wi' baith good iron and steel; And he has pull'd out his fringed grey,
And there brave Noble he rade him weel.
Then Hobie is down the water gane,
E'en as fast as he may drie;
Tho' they shou'd a brusten and broken their hearts
Frae that tryst Noble he would not be.
Weel may ye be my feiries five;
And aye, what is your wills wi' me?
Then they cry'd a' wi' ae consent,
Thou'rt welcome here brave Noble to me.
* At the joining of the Rivers of Kershope and Liddal, where there is still some remains of an old tower to be seen.
+ The Mains is a farm house about six hundred yards above the Castletoun Church, on the north side of Liddal.
Wilt thou with us in England ride,
And thy safe warrand we will be;-
If we get a horse worth a hundred punds,
Upon his back that thou shalt be.
I dare not with you into England ride;
The land-sergeant has me at feid :—
I know not what evil may betide,
For Peter of Whitfield, his brother, is dead.
And Anton Shiel he loves not me;
For I gat twa drifts of his sheep:-
The great Earl of Whitfield loves me not;
For nae gear frae me he e'er cou'd keep.
But will ye stay till the day gae down-
Until the night come o'er the grund,
And I'll be a guide worth ony twa
That may in Liddisdale be fund.
Tho' dark the night as pick and tar,
I'll lead ye o'er yon hills fu' hie;
And bring ye a' in safety back,
If you'll be true, and follow me.
He's guided them o'er moss and muir,―
O'er hill and houp, and mony ae down;
Till they came to the Foul-bog-shiel,
And there brave Noble he lighted down.
Then word is gane to the land-sergeant,
In Askirtoun where that he lay:
The deer that ye hae hunted lang
Is seen into the Waste this day.-
Then Hobie Noble is that deer,
I wat he carries the style fu' hie,
Aft has he beat your slough-hounds back
And set yourselves at little fee.
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