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Gar warn the Bows of Hartlie-Burn,

See they sharp their arrows on the wa': Warn Willeva and spear Edom,

And see the morn they meet me a'.-
Gar meet me on the Rodrie-haugh;

And see it be by break o' day:
And we will on to Conscowthart Green,

And there I think w'll get our prey.
Then Hobie Noble has dream'd a dream,

In the Foul-bog-sheil where that he lay:
He thought his horse was 'neath him shot,
And he himself



The cocks could crow and the day could dawn,

And I wat so even down fell the rain : If Hobie had no waken'd at that time,

In the Foul-bog-shiel he had been tane or slain.

Get up, get up, my feiries five;

For I wat here makes a fu’ill day; And the warst clock of this companie,

I hope shall cross the Waste this day.
Now Hobie thought the gates were clear,

But ever alas ! it was not sae;
They were beset wi' cruel men and keen,

That away brave Noble could not gae.
Yet follow me my feiries five,

And see of me ye keep good ray;. And the worst clock of this companie,

I hope shall cross the Waste this day.
There was heaps of men now Hobie before,

And other heaps was him behind;
That had he been as wight as Wallace was,

Away brave Noble he could not win.

Then Hobie he had but'a laddies sword,

But he did more than a laddies deed; In the midst of Conscowthart green

He brake it o'er Jersawigham's head. Now they have tane brave Hobie Noble,

Wi' his ain bow-string they band him sae: And I wat his heart was ne'er sae sair

As when his ain five band him on the brae.

They have tane him for West Carlisle;

They ask'd him if he knew the way. Whate'er he thought yet little he said,

He knew the way as well as they.They hae tane him up the Ricker-gate,

The wives they cast their windows wide; And ilka wife to anither can say,

That's the man loos’d Jock o' the Side.

Fy on ye women, why ca' ye me man?

For its nae man that I'm us'd like; I'm but like a forfoughen hound,

Has been fighting in a dirty syke. Then they hae tane him up thro' Carlisle town,

And set him by the chimney fire;
They gave, brave Noble a wheat loaf to eat,

And that was little his desire,

Then they gave him a wheat loaf to eat,

And after that a can o' beer.Then they cried a' wi' ae concent,

Eat brave Noble and make good cheer. Confess


lord's horse, Hobie they say;
And the morn in Carlisle thou's no die.
How shall I confess them Hobie says
For I never saw them with mine eye,

Then Hobie has sworn a fu' great aith

By the day that he was gotten or born, He never had ony thing o' my lord's,

That either eat him grass or corn. Now fare thee weel sweet Mangerton;

For I think again I'll ne'er thee see. I wad betray nae lad alive

For a' the goud in Christentie. And fare thee weel now Liddisdale,

Baith the bie land and the law Keep ye weel frae traitor Mains;

For goud and gear he'll sell ye a'. I'd rather be ca'd Hobie Noble,

In Carlisle where he suffers for his faut, Before I were ca'd traitor Mains,

That eats and drinks of meal and maut.

The three preceding Ballads are evidently of one age, viz. the reign of James VI. They possess very uncommon merit, and from their minuteness of detail, present us with a view of life and manners, more striking than any commentary that could be added to them. In the poems of Richard Maitland, who was Chancellor to James, we find one“ against the thieves of Liddisdail," in which some of the principal heroes of these Ballads have a conspicuous place,

Thai thieves that steals, and tursis hame,
Ilk ane o' them has a to-name ;

Will of the Lawis,
Hab of the Schawis,

To mak bare wawis
They think na shame.
They spoilie poor men of their pakis,
They leave them nought on bed nor bakis,

Baith hen and cock
With reel and rock

The Laird's Jok
All with him takis.

They leave nor spindle, spoon nor speit,
Bed, bolster, blanket, sark nor sheit.

John of the Park
Ryps kist and ark,
For all sick wark,
He is right meet.

He is weel kend, John of the Side,
A greater thief did never ride.

He never tires
For to break byres.

Owre muir and mires
Owre gude a guide.
There is ane callit Clements Hob,
Frae ilk puir wife reaves the wob

And all the lave
Whatever they have.

The divel receive,
Therefore his Gob.

We may add, to complete the history of these outlaws, that poor Dick o' the Cow, was pursued into his retreat by the Armstrongs, and most cruelly murdered. That the five Armstrongs who betrayed Hobie Noble, were pursued by the relentless vengeance of the chief of the clan, the laird of Mangerton; to avoid which, Sim o' the Mains, who was the chief actor in the faithless and ungrateful transaction, fed into England, where he was shortly after taken and hanged.



LITHE and listen, gentlemen,

To sing a song I will begin :
It is a lord of fair Scotland,

Which was the unthrifty heir of Linne.

His father was a right good lord,

His mother a lady of high degree;
But they, alas! were dead, him frae,

And he lov'd keeping companie.
To spend the day with merry chear,

To drink and revel every night,
To cards and dice from even to morn,

It was I ween, his heart's delight.
To ride, to run, to rant, to roar,

To always spend and never spare,
I wott, an' it were the king himself,

Of gold and fee he mote he bare.

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Sac fares the unthrifty lord of Linne

Till all his gold is gone and spent; And he maun sell his lands sae broad,

His house, and lands, and all his rent. His father had a keen steward,

And John o' the Scales was called he: But John is become a gentelman,

And John has got baith gold and fee. Says, Welcome, welcome, lord of Linne,

Let nought disturb thy merry cheer, If thou wilt sell thy lands sae broad,

Good store of gold I'll give thee here. My gold is gone, my money is spent;

My land now take it unto thee, Give me the gold, good John o' the Scales,

And thine for aye my land shall be. Then John he did him to record draw,

And John he gave him a gods-pennie ;** But for every pound that John agreed,

The land, I wis, was well worth three. He told him the gold upon the board,

He was right glad his land to win: The land is mine, the gold is thine,

And now I'll be the lord of Linne. Thus he hath sold his land sae broad,

Baith hill and holt, and moor and fen, All

but a poor and lonesome lodge,

That stood far aff in a lonely glen. For sae he to his father hight:

My son when I am gane, sayd he, Then thou wilt spend thy land sae broad,

And thou wilt spend thy gold so free.

* Earnest-money.

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