* * * *
*
Foul fa’ the breast first treason
bred in!
That Liddesdale may safely say:
For in it there was baith meat and drink,
And corn unto our geldings gay.
And we were a’ stout-hearted men,
As England she might often say;
But now we may turn our backs and flee,
Since brave Noble is sold away.
Now Hobbie was an English man,
And born into Bewcastle dale;
But his misdeeds they were sae great,
They banish’d him to Liddesdale.
At Kershope foot the tryst was set,
Kershope of the lilye lee;
And there was traitor Sim o’ the
Mains,
And with him a private companie.
Then Hobbie has graithed his body fair,
Baith wi’ the iron and wi’
the steil;
And he has ta’en out his fringed
grey,
And there, brave Hobbie, he rade him weel.
Then Hobbie is down the water gane,
E’en as fast as he could his;
Tho’ a’ should hae bursten
and broken their hearts,
Frae that riding tryst he wad na be.
“Weel be ye met, my feres181 five!
And now, what is your will wi’ me?”
Then they cried a’, wi ae consent,
“Thou’rt welcome here, brave
Noble, to me.
“Wilt thou with us into England
ride,
And thy safe warrand we will be?
If we get a horse, worth a hundred pound,
Upon his back thou sune shalt be.”
“I dare not by day into England
ride;
The land-serjeant has me at feid:
“And 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 o’ his sheep;
The great Earl of Whitfield182 loves
me not,
For nae geer frae me he e’er could
keep.
“But will ye stay till the day gae
down,
Untill the night come o’er the grund,
And I’ll be a guide worth ony twa,
That may in Liddesdale be found.
“Tho’ the night be black as
pick and tar,
I’ll guide ye o’er yon hill
sae hie;
And bring ye a’ in safety back,
If ye’ll be true, and follow me.”
He has guided them o’er moss and
muir,
O’er hill and hope, and mony a down;
Until they came to the Foulbogshiel,
And there, brave Noble, he lighted down.
But word is gane to the land-serjeant,
In Askerton where that he lay—
“The deer, that ye hae hunted sae
lang,
Is seen into the Waste this day.”
“Then Hobbie Noble is that deer!
I wat he carries the style fu’ hie;
Aft has he driven our bluidhounds back,
And set ourselves at little lee.
“Gar warn the bows of Hartlie-burn;
See they sharp their arrows on the wa’:
Warn Willeva, and Speir Edom,
And see the morn they meet me a’.
“Gar meet me on the Rodric-haugh,
And see it be by break o’ day;
And we will on to Conscouthart-green,
For there, I think, we’ll get our
prey.”
Then Hobbie Noble has dreimt a dreim,
In the Foulbogshiel, where that he lay;
He dreimt his horse was aneath him shot,
And he himself got hard away.
The cocks could craw, the day could daw,
And I wot sae even fell down the rain;
Had Hobble na wakened at that time,
In the Foulbogshiel he had been ta’en
or slain.
“Awake, awake, my feres five!
I trow here makes a fu’ ill day;
Yet the worst cloak o’ this company,
I hope, shall cross the Waste this day.”
Now Hobbie thought the gates were clear;
But, ever alas! it was na sae:
They were beset by cruel men and keen,
That away brave Hobbie might na gae.
“Yet follow me, my feres five,
And see ye kelp of me guid ray;
And the worst cloak o’ this company
Even yet may cross the Waste this day.”
But the land-serjeant’s men came
Hobbie before,
The traitor Sim came Hobbie behin’,
So had Noble been wight as Wallace was,
Away, alas! he might na win.
Then Hobbie had but a laddie’s sword;
But he did mair than a laddie’s
deed;
For that sword had clear’d Conscouthart
green,
Had it not broke o’er Jerswigham’s
head.
Then they hae ta’en brave Hobbie
Noble,
Wi’s ain bowstring they band him
sae;
But his gentle heart was ne’er sae
sair,
As when his ain five bound him on the
brae.
They hae ta’en him on for west Carlisle;
They asked him, if he kend the way?
Tho’ much he thought, yet little
he said;
He knew the gate as weel as they.
They hae ta’en him up the Ricker-gate;
The wives they cast their windows wide:
And every wife to another can say,
“That’s the man loosed Jock
o’ the Side!”
“Fy on ye, women! why ca’
ye me man?
For it’s nae man that I’m
used like;
I am but like a forfoughen183 hound,
Has been fighting in a dirty syke.”[184]
They hae had him up thro’ Carlisle
toun,
And set him by the chimney fire;
They gave brave Noble a loaf to eat,
And that was little his desire.
They gave him a wheaten loaf to eat,
And after that a can of beer;
And they a’ cried, with one consent,
“Eat, brave Noble, and make gude
cheir!
“Confess my lord’s horse,
Hobbie,” they said,
“And to-morrow in Carlisle thou’s
na die.”
“How can I confess them,”
Hobbie says,
“When I never saw them with my e’e?”
Then Hobbie has sworn a fu’ great
aith,
Bi the day that he was gotten and 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 hae betrayed nae lad alive,
For a’ the gowd o’ Christentie.
“And fare thee weel, sweet Liddesdale!
Baith the hie land and the law;
Keep ye weel frae the traitor Mains!
For goud and gear he’ll sell ye
a’.
“Yet wad I rather be ca’d
Hobbie Noble,
In Carlisle, where he suffers for his
fau’t,
Than I’d be ca’d the traitor
Mains,
That eats and drinks o’ the meal
and maut.”
[Footnote 181: Feres—Companions.]
[Footnote 182: Earl of Whitfield—The
editor does not know who is here meant.]
[Footnote 183: Forfoughen—Quite
fatigued.]
[Footnote 184: Syke—Ditch.]
