* * * *
*
Now Liddesdale has layen lang in,
There is na riding there at a’;
The horses are grown sae lither fat,
They downa stur out o’ the sta.’
Fair Johnie Armstrang to Willie did say—
“Billie, a riding we will gae;
England and us have been lang at feid;
Ablins we’ll light on some bootie.”
Then they are come on to Hutton Ha’;
They rade that proper place about;
But the laird he was the wiser man,
For he had left nae gear without.
For he had left nae gear to steal,
Except sax sheep upon a lee:
Quo’ Johnie—“I’d
rather in England die,
“Ere thir sax sheep gae to Liddesdale
wi’ me.”
“But how ca’ they the men
we last met,
Billie, as we cam owre the know?”
“That same he is an innocent fule,
And men they call him Dick o’ the
Cow,”
“That fule has three as good kye
o’ his ain,
As there are in a’ Cumberland, billie,”
quo he:
“Betide me life, betide me death,
These kye shall go to Liddesdale wi’
me.”
Then they have come on to the pure fule’s
house,
And they hae broken his wa’s sae
wide;
They have loosed out Dick o’ the
Cow’s three ky,
And ta’en three co’erlets
frae his wife’s bed.
Then on the morn when the day was light,
The shouts and cries rase loud and hie:
“O haud thy tongue, my wife,”
he says,
“And o’ thy crying let me
be!
“O had thy tongue, my wife,”
he says,
“And o’ thy crying let me
be;
And ay where thou hast lost ae cow,
In gude suith I shall bring thee three.”
Now Dickie’s gane to the gude Lord
Scroope,
And I wat a dreirie fule was he;
“Now hand thy tongue, my fule,”
he says,
“For I may not stand to jest wi’
thee.”
“Shame fa’ your jesting, my
lord!” quo’ Dickie,
“For nae sic jesting grees wi’
me;
Liddesdale’s been in my house last
night,
And they hae awa my three kye frae me.
“But I may nae langer in Cumberland
dwell,
To be your puir fule and your leal,
Unless you gi’ me leave, my lord,
To gae to Liddesdale and steal.”
“I gie thee leave, my fule!”
he says;
“Thou speakest against my honour
and me,
Unless thou gie me thy trowth and thy
hand,
Thou’lt steal frae nane but whae
sta’ frae thee.”
“There is my trowth, and my right
hand!
My head shall hang on Hairibee;
I’ll ne’er cross Carlisle
sands again,
If I steal frae a man but whae sta’
frae me.”
Dickie’s ta’en leave o’
lord and master;
I wat a merry fule was he!
He’s bought a bridle and a pair
of new spurs,
And pack’d them up in his breek
thie.
Then Dickie’s come on to Pudding-burn
house,
E’en as fast as he might drie;
Then Dickie’s come on to Pudding-burn,
Where there were thirty Armstrangs and
three.
“O what’s this come o’
me now?” quo’ Dickie;
“What mickle wae is this?”
quo’ he;
“For here is but ae innocent fule,
And there are thirty Armstrangs and three!”
Yet he has come up to the fair ha’
board,
Sae weil he’s become his courtesie!
“Weil may ye be, my gude Laird’s
Jock!
But the deil bless a’ your cumpanie.
“I’m come to plain o’
your man, fair Johnie Armstrang
And syne o’ his billie Willie,”
quo he;
“How they’ve been in my house
last night,
And they hae ta’en my three kye
frae me.”
“Ha!” quo’ fair Johnie
Armstrang, “we will him hang.”
“Na,” quo’ Willie, “we’ll
him slae.”
Then up and spak another young Armstrang,
“We’ll gie him his batts,[173]
and let him gae.”
But up and spak the gude Laird’s
Jock,
The best falla in a’ the cumpanie:
“Sit down thy ways a little while,
Dickie,
And a piece o’ thy ain cow’s
hough I’ll gie ye.”
But Dickie’s heart it grew sae grit,
That the ne’er a bit o’t he
dought to eat—
Then was he aware of an auld peat-house,
Where a’ the night he thought for
to sleep.
Then Dickie was aware of an auld peat-house,
Where a’ the night he thought for
to lye—
And a’ the prayers the pure fule
prayed
Were, “I wish I had amends for my
gude three kye!”
It was then the use of Pudding-burn house,
And the house of Mangerton, all hail,
Them that cam na at the first ca’,
Gat nae mair meat till the neist meal.
The lads, that hungry and weary were,
Abune the door-head they threw the key;
Dickie he took gude notice o’ that,
Says—“There will be a
bootie for me.”
Then Dickie has into the stable gane,
Where there stood thirty horses and three;
He has tied them a’ wi’ St.
Mary’s knot,
A’ these horses but barely three.
He has tied them a’ wi’ St.
Mary’s knot,
A’ these horses but barely three;
He’s loupen on ane, ta’en
another in hand,
And away as fast as he can hie.
But on the morn, when the day grew light,
The shouts and cries raise loud and hie—
“Ah! whae has done this?”
quo’ the gude Laird’s Jock,
“Tell me the truth and the verity!”
“Whae has done this deed?”
quo’ the gude Laird’s Jock;
“See that to me ye dinna lie!”
Dickie has been in the stable last night,
And has ta’en my brother’s
horse and mine frae me.”
“Ye wad ne’er be tald,”
quo’ the gude Laird’s Jock;
“Have ye not found my tales fu’
leil?
Ye ne’er wad out o’ England
bide,
Till crooked, and blind, and a’
would steal.”
“But lend me thy bay,” fair
Johnie can say;
“There’s nae horse loose in
the stable save he;
And I’ll either fetch Dick o’
the Cow again,
Or the day is come that he shall die.”
“To lend thee my bay!” the
Laird’s Jock can say,
“He’s baith worth gowd and
gude monie;
Dick o’ the Cow has awa twa horse;
I wish na thou may make him three.”
He has ta’en the laird’s jack
on his back,
A twa-handed sword to hang by his thie;
He has ta’en a steil cap on his
head,
And gallopped on to follow Dickie.
Dickie was na a mile frae aff the town,
I wat a mile but barely three,
When he was o’erta’en by fair
Johnie Armstrang,
Hand for hand, on Cannobie lee.
“Abide, abide, thou traitour thief!
The day is come that thou maun die.”
Then Dickie look’t owre his left
shoulder,
Said—“Johnie, hast thou
nae mae in cumpanie?
“There is a preacher in our chapell,
And a’ the live lang day teaches
he:
When day is gane, and night is come,
There’s ne’er ae word I mark
but three.
“The first and second is—Faith
and Conscience;
The third—Ne’er let a
traitour free:
But, Johnie, what faith and conscience
was thine,
When thou took awa my three ky frae me?
“And when thou had ta’en awa
my three ky,
Thou thought in thy heart thou wast not
weil sped,
Till thou sent thy billie Willie ower
the know,
To take thrie coverlets off my wife’s
bed!”
Then Johnie let a speir fa’ laigh
by his thie,
Thought well to hae slain the innocent,
I trow;
But the powers above were mair than he,
For he ran but the puir fule’s jerkin
through.
Together they ran, or ever they blan;
This was Dickie the fule and he!
Dickie could na win at him wi’ the
blade o’ the sword,
But fell’d him wi’ the plummet
under the e’e.
Thus Dickie has fell’d fair Johnie
Armstrang,
The prettiest man in the south country—–
“Gramercy!” then can Dickie
say,
“I had but twa horse, thou hast
made me thrie!”
He’s ta’en the steil jack
aff Johnie’s back,
The twa-handed sword that hang low by
his thie;
He’s ta’en the steil cap aff
his head—
“Johnie, I’ll tell my master
I met wi’ thee.”
When Johnie wakened out o’ his dream,
I wat a dreirie man was he:
“And is thou gane? Now, Dickie,
than
The shame and dule is left wi’ me.
“And is thou gane? Now, Dickie,
than
The deil gae in thy cumpanie!
For if I should live these hundred years,
I ne’er shall fight wi’ a
fule after thee.”—
Then Dickie’s come hame to the gude
Lord Scroope,
E’en as fast as he might his;
“Now, Dickie, I’ll neither
eat nor drink,
Till hie hanged thou shalt be.”
“The shame speed the liars, my lord!”
quo’ Dickie;
“This was na the promise ye made
to me!
For I’d ne’er gane to Liddesdale
to steal,
Had I not got my leave frae thee.”
“But what garr’d thee steal
the Laird’s Jock’s horse?
And, limmer, what garr’d ye steal
him?” quo’ he;
“For lang thou mightst in Cumberland
dwelt,
Ere the Laird’s Jock had stown frae
thee.”
“Indeed I wat ye lied, my lord!
And e’en sae loud as I hear ye lie!
I wan the horse frae fair Johnie Armstrong,
Hand to hand, on Cannobie lee.
“There is the jack was on his back;
This twa-handed sword hang laigh by his
thie,
And there’s the steil cap was on
his head;
I brought a’ these tokens to let
thee see.”
“If that be true thou to me tells,
(And I think thou dares na tell a lie,)
I’ll gie thee fifteen punds for
the horse,
Weil tald on thy cloak lap shall be.
“I’ll gie thee are o’
my best milk ky,
To maintain thy wife and children thrie;
And that may be as gude, I think,
As ony twa o’ thine wad be.”
“The shame speed the liars, my lord!”
quo’ Dickie;
“Trow ye aye to make a fule o’
me?
I’ll either hae twenty punds for
the gude horse,
Or he’s gae to Mortan fair wi’
me.”
He’s gien him twenty punds for the
gude horse,
A’ in goud and gude monie;
He’s gien him ane o’ his best
milk ky,
To maintain his wife and children thrie.
Then Dickie’s come down thro’
Carlisle toun,
E’en as fast as he could drie;
The first o’ men that he met wi’
Was my lord’s brother, bailiff Glozenburrie.
“Weil be ye met, my gude Ralph Scroope!”
“Welcome, my brother’s fule!”
quo’ he:
“Where didst thou get fair Johnie
Armstrong’s horse?”
“Where did I get him? but steal
him,” quo’ he.
“But wilt thou sell me the bonny
horse?
And, billie, wilt thou sell him to me?”
quo’ he:
“Aye; if thoul’t tell me the
monie on my cloak lap:
“For there’s never ae penny
I’ll trust thee.”
“I’ll gie thee ten punds for
the gude horse,
Weil tald on thy cloak lap they shall
be;
And I’ll gie thee ane o’ the
best milk ky,
To maintain thy wife and children thrie.”
“The shame speid the liars, my lord!”
quo’ Dickie;
“Trow ye ay to make a fule o’
me!
I’ll either hae twenty punds for
the gude horse,
Or he’s gae to Mortan fair wi’
me.”
He’s gien him twenty punds for the
gude horse,
Baith in goud and gude monie;
He’s gien him ane o’ his best
milk ky,
To maintain his wife and children thrie.
Then Dickie lap a loup fu’ hie,
And I wat a loud laugh laughed he—
“I wish the neck o’ the third
horse were broken,
If ony of the twa were better than he!”
Then Dickie’s come hame to his wife
again;
Judge ye how the poor fule had sped!
He has gien her twa score English punds,
For the thrie auld coverlets ta’en
aff her bed.
“And tak thee these twa as gude
ky,
I trow, as a’ thy thrie might be;
And yet here is a white-footed nagie,
I trow he’ll carry baith thee and
me.
“But I may nae langer in Cumberland
bide;
The Armstrongs they would hang me hie.”
So Dickie’s ta’en leave at
lord and master,
And at Burgh under Stanmuir there dwells
he.
[Footnote 173: Gie him his
batts—Dismiss him with a beating.]
