13. Kershope-burn, where Hobbie met his treacherous companions, falls into the Liddel, from the English side, at a place called Turnersholm, where, according to tradition, tourneys and games of chivalry were often solemnized.—S.15. The Mains was anciently a Border-keep, near Castletown, on the north side of the Liddel, but is now totally demolished.—S.38. For twa drifts of his sheep I gat.—P. M.39. Whitfield is explained by Mr. Ellis of Otterbourne to be a large and rather wild manorial district in the extreme southwest part of Northumberland; the proprietor of which might be naturally called the Lord, though notEarlof Whitfield. I suspect, however, that the reciters may have corrupted thegreatRalph Whitfield into Earl of Whitfield. Sir Matthew Whitfield of Whitfield, was Sheriff of Northumberland in 1433, and the estate continued in the family from the reign of Richard II. till about fifty years since.—S.54. Askerton is an old castle, now ruinous, situated in the wilds of Cumberland, about seventeen miles north-east of Carlisle, amidst that mountainous and desolate tract of country bordering upon Liddesdale, emphatically termed the Waste of Bewcastle.—S.63-67. Willeva and Speir Edom are small districts in Bewcastledale, through which also the Hartlie-burn takes its course. Conscouthart-Green, and Rodrie-haugh, and the Foulbogshiel, are the names of places in the same wilds, through which the Scottish plunderers generally made their raids upon England.—S.79,87. clock.105. A street in Carlisle.129. Of the Castle of Mangertoun, so often mentioned in these ballads, there are very few vestiges. It was situated on the banks of the Liddell, below Castletoun.—S.
13. Kershope-burn, where Hobbie met his treacherous companions, falls into the Liddel, from the English side, at a place called Turnersholm, where, according to tradition, tourneys and games of chivalry were often solemnized.—S.
15. The Mains was anciently a Border-keep, near Castletown, on the north side of the Liddel, but is now totally demolished.—S.
38. For twa drifts of his sheep I gat.—P. M.
39. Whitfield is explained by Mr. Ellis of Otterbourne to be a large and rather wild manorial district in the extreme southwest part of Northumberland; the proprietor of which might be naturally called the Lord, though notEarlof Whitfield. I suspect, however, that the reciters may have corrupted thegreatRalph Whitfield into Earl of Whitfield. Sir Matthew Whitfield of Whitfield, was Sheriff of Northumberland in 1433, and the estate continued in the family from the reign of Richard II. till about fifty years since.—S.
54. Askerton is an old castle, now ruinous, situated in the wilds of Cumberland, about seventeen miles north-east of Carlisle, amidst that mountainous and desolate tract of country bordering upon Liddesdale, emphatically termed the Waste of Bewcastle.—S.
63-67. Willeva and Speir Edom are small districts in Bewcastledale, through which also the Hartlie-burn takes its course. Conscouthart-Green, and Rodrie-haugh, and the Foulbogshiel, are the names of places in the same wilds, through which the Scottish plunderers generally made their raids upon England.—S.
79,87. clock.
105. A street in Carlisle.
129. Of the Castle of Mangertoun, so often mentioned in these ballads, there are very few vestiges. It was situated on the banks of the Liddell, below Castletoun.—S.
FromMinstrelsy of the Scottish Border, ii. 3.
"There is another ballad, under the same title as the following, in which nearly the same incidents are narrated, with little difference, except that the honour of rescuing the cattle is attributed to the Liddesdale Elliots, headed by a chief, there called Martin Elliot of the Preakin Tower, whose son, Simon, is said to have fallen in the action. It is very possible, that both the Teviotdale Scotts, and the Elliots, were engaged in the affair, and that each claimed the honour of the victory.
"The Editor presumes, that the Willie Scott, herementioned, must have been a natural son of the Laird of Buccleuch."—S.
It fell about the Martinmas tyde,When our Border steeds get corn and hay,The Captain of Bewcastle hath bound him to ryde,And he's ower to Tividale to drive a prey.The first ae guide that they met wi',5It was high up inHardhaughswire;The second guide that they met wi',It was laigh down in Borthwick water."What tidings, what tidings, my trusty guide?""Nae tidings, nae tidings, I hae to thee;10But gin ye'll gae to the fairDodhead,Mony a cow's cauf I'll let thee see."And when they cam to the fair Dodhead,Right hastily they clam the peel;They loosed the kye out, ane and a',15And ranshackled the house right weel.Now Jamie Telfer's heart was sair,The tear aye rowing in his ee;He pled wi' the Captain to hae his gear,Or else revenged he wad be.20The Captain turned him round and leugh;Said—"Man, there's naething in thy house,But ae auld sword without a sheath,That hardly now would fell a mouse."The sun wasna up, but the moon was down,25It was the gryming of a new-fa'n snaw,Jamie Telfer has run ten myles a-foot,Between the Dodhead and theStobs's Ha'.And when he cam to the fair tower yate,He shouted loud, and cried weel hie,30Till out bespak auld Gibby Elliot—"Whae's this that brings the fraye to me?""It's I, Jamie Telfer, o' the fair Dodhead,And a harried man I think I be;There's naething left at the fair Dodhead,35But a waefu' wife and bairnies three.""Gae seek your succour atBranksome Ha',For succour ye'se get nane frae me;Gae seek your succour where ye paid black-mail,For, man, ye ne'er paid money to me."40Jamie has turned him round about,I wat the tear blinded his ee—"I'll ne'er pay mail to Elliot again,And the fair Dodhead I'll never see!"My hounds may a' rin masterless,45My hawks may fly frae tree to tree,My lord may grip my vassal lands,For there again maun I never be!"He has turn'd him to the Tiviot side,E'en as fast as he could drie,50Till he cam to theCoultart Cleugh,And there he shouted baith loud and hie.Then up bespak him auld Jock Grieve—"Whae's this that brings the fraye to me?""It's I, Jamie Telfer o' the fair Dodhead,55A harried man I trow I be."There's naething left in the fair Dodhead,But a greeting wife and bairnies three,And sax poor ca's stand in the sta',A' routing loud for their minnie."60"Alack a wae!" quo' auld Jock Grieve,"Alack, my heart is sair for thee!For I was married on the elder sister,And you on the youngest of a' the three."Then he has ta'en out a bonny black,65Was right weel fed with corn and hay,And he's set Jamie Telfer on his back,To the Catslockhill to tak the fraye.And whan he cam to the Catslockhill,He shouted loud, and cried weel hie,70Till out and spak him William's Wat—"O whae's this brings the fraye to me?""It's I, Jamie Telfer of the fair Dodhead,A harried man I think I be;The Captain of Bewcastle has driven my gear;75For God's sake rise, and succour me!""Alas for wae!" quoth William's Wat,"Alack, for thee my heart is sair!I never cam by the fair Dodhead,That ever I fand thy basket bare."80He's set his twa sons on coal-black steeds,Himsell upon a freckled gray,And they are on wi' Jamie Telfer,To Branksome Ha' to tak the fraye.And when they cam to Branksome Ha',85They shouted a' baith loud and hie,Till up and spak him auld Buccleuch,Said—"Whae's this brings the fraye to me?""It's I, Jamie Telfer o' the fair Dodhead,And a harried man I think I be;90There's nought left in the fair Dodhead,But a greeting wife and bairnies three.""Alack for wae!" quoth the gude auld lord,"And ever my heart is wae for thee!But fye, gar cry on Willie, my son,95And see that he come to me speedilie."Garwarn the water, braid and wide,Gar warn it sune and hastilie;They that winna ride for Telfer's kye,Let them never look in the face o' me!100"Warn Wat o'Harden, and his sons,Wi' them will Borthwick Water ride;Warn Gaudilands, and Allanhaugh,And Gilmanscleugh, and Commonside."Ride by the gate at Priesthaughswire,105And warn the Currors o' the Lee;As ye cum down the Hermitage Slack,Warn doughty Willie o' Gorrinberry."The Scotts they rade, the Scotts they ran,Sae starkly and sae steadilie,110And aye the ower-word o' the thrangWas—"Rise for Branksome readilie!"The gear was driven theFrostyleeup,Frae the Frostylee unto the plain,Whan Willie has look'd his men before,115And saw the kye right fast drivand."Whae drives thir kye?" gan Willie say,"To make an outspeckle o' me?""It's I, the Captain o' Bewcastle, Willie;I winna layne my name for thee."120"O will ye let Telfer's kye gae back?Or will ye do aught for regard o' me?Or, by the faith of my body," quo' Willie Scott,"I'se ware my dame's cauf skin on thee.""I winna let the kye gae back,125Neither for thy love, nor yet thy fear;But I will drive Jamie Telfer's kye,In spite of every Scott that's here.""Set on them, lads!" quo' Willie than;"Fye, lads, set on them cruellie!130For ere they win to the Ritterford,Mony a toom saddle there sall be!"Then til't they gaed, wi' heart and hand,The blows fell thick as bickering hail;And mony a horse ran masterless,135And mony a comely cheek was pale.But Willie was stricken ower the head,And thro' the knapscap the sword has gane;And Harden grat for very rage,Whan Willie on the grund lay slane.140But he's ta'en aff his gude steel cap,And thrice he's waved it in the air;TheDinlaysnaw was ne'er mair whiteNor the lyart locks of Harden's hair."Revenge! revenge!" auld Wat 'gan cry;145"Fye, lads, lay on them cruellie!We'll ne'er see Tiviotside again,Or Willie's death revenged sall be."O mony a horse ran masterless,The splinter'd lances flew on hie;150But or they wan ta the Kershope ford,The Scotts had gotten the victory.John o' Brighamthere was slane,And John o' Barlow, as I heard say;And thirty mae o' the Captain's men155Lay bleeding on the grund that day.The Captain was run through the thick of the thigh,And broken was his right leg bane;If he had lived this hundred years,He had never been loved by woman again.160"Hae back the kye!" the Captain said;"Dear kye, I trow, to some they be;For gin I suld live a hundred years,There will ne'er fair lady smile on me."Then word is gane to the Captain's bride,165Even in the bower where that she lay,That her lord was prisoner in enemy's land,Since into Tividale he had led the way."I wad lourd have had a winding-sheet,And helped to put it ower his head,170Ere he had been disgraced by the Border Scot,Whan he ower Liddel his men did lead!"There was a wild gallant amang us a',His name was Watty wi' the Wudspurs,Cried—"On for his house inStanegirthside,175If ony man will ride with us!"When they cam to the Stanegirthside,They dang wi' trees, and burst the door;They loosed out a' the Captain's kye,And set them forth our lads before.180There was an auld wyfe ayont the fire,A wee bit o' the Captain's kin—"Whae dar loose out the Captain's kye,Or answer to him and his men?""It's I, Watty Wudspurs, loose the kye,185I winna layne my name frae thee;And I will loose out the Captain's kye,In scorn of a' his men and he."Whan they cam to the fair Dodhead,They were a wellcum sight to see;190For instead of his ain ten milk kye,Jamie Telfer has gotten thirty and three.And he has paid the rescue shot,Baith wi' goud and white monie;And at the burial o' Willie Scott,195I wat was mony a weeping ee.
It fell about the Martinmas tyde,When our Border steeds get corn and hay,The Captain of Bewcastle hath bound him to ryde,And he's ower to Tividale to drive a prey.
The first ae guide that they met wi',5It was high up inHardhaughswire;The second guide that they met wi',It was laigh down in Borthwick water.
"What tidings, what tidings, my trusty guide?""Nae tidings, nae tidings, I hae to thee;10But gin ye'll gae to the fairDodhead,Mony a cow's cauf I'll let thee see."
And when they cam to the fair Dodhead,Right hastily they clam the peel;They loosed the kye out, ane and a',15And ranshackled the house right weel.
Now Jamie Telfer's heart was sair,The tear aye rowing in his ee;He pled wi' the Captain to hae his gear,Or else revenged he wad be.20
The Captain turned him round and leugh;Said—"Man, there's naething in thy house,But ae auld sword without a sheath,That hardly now would fell a mouse."
The sun wasna up, but the moon was down,25It was the gryming of a new-fa'n snaw,Jamie Telfer has run ten myles a-foot,Between the Dodhead and theStobs's Ha'.
And when he cam to the fair tower yate,He shouted loud, and cried weel hie,30Till out bespak auld Gibby Elliot—"Whae's this that brings the fraye to me?"
"It's I, Jamie Telfer, o' the fair Dodhead,And a harried man I think I be;There's naething left at the fair Dodhead,35But a waefu' wife and bairnies three."
"Gae seek your succour atBranksome Ha',For succour ye'se get nane frae me;Gae seek your succour where ye paid black-mail,For, man, ye ne'er paid money to me."40
Jamie has turned him round about,I wat the tear blinded his ee—"I'll ne'er pay mail to Elliot again,And the fair Dodhead I'll never see!
"My hounds may a' rin masterless,45My hawks may fly frae tree to tree,My lord may grip my vassal lands,For there again maun I never be!"
He has turn'd him to the Tiviot side,E'en as fast as he could drie,50Till he cam to theCoultart Cleugh,And there he shouted baith loud and hie.
Then up bespak him auld Jock Grieve—"Whae's this that brings the fraye to me?""It's I, Jamie Telfer o' the fair Dodhead,55A harried man I trow I be.
"There's naething left in the fair Dodhead,But a greeting wife and bairnies three,And sax poor ca's stand in the sta',A' routing loud for their minnie."60
"Alack a wae!" quo' auld Jock Grieve,"Alack, my heart is sair for thee!For I was married on the elder sister,And you on the youngest of a' the three."
Then he has ta'en out a bonny black,65Was right weel fed with corn and hay,And he's set Jamie Telfer on his back,To the Catslockhill to tak the fraye.
And whan he cam to the Catslockhill,He shouted loud, and cried weel hie,70Till out and spak him William's Wat—"O whae's this brings the fraye to me?"
"It's I, Jamie Telfer of the fair Dodhead,A harried man I think I be;The Captain of Bewcastle has driven my gear;75For God's sake rise, and succour me!"
"Alas for wae!" quoth William's Wat,"Alack, for thee my heart is sair!I never cam by the fair Dodhead,That ever I fand thy basket bare."80
He's set his twa sons on coal-black steeds,Himsell upon a freckled gray,And they are on wi' Jamie Telfer,To Branksome Ha' to tak the fraye.
And when they cam to Branksome Ha',85They shouted a' baith loud and hie,Till up and spak him auld Buccleuch,Said—"Whae's this brings the fraye to me?"
"It's I, Jamie Telfer o' the fair Dodhead,And a harried man I think I be;90There's nought left in the fair Dodhead,But a greeting wife and bairnies three."
"Alack for wae!" quoth the gude auld lord,"And ever my heart is wae for thee!But fye, gar cry on Willie, my son,95And see that he come to me speedilie.
"Garwarn the water, braid and wide,Gar warn it sune and hastilie;They that winna ride for Telfer's kye,Let them never look in the face o' me!100
"Warn Wat o'Harden, and his sons,Wi' them will Borthwick Water ride;Warn Gaudilands, and Allanhaugh,And Gilmanscleugh, and Commonside.
"Ride by the gate at Priesthaughswire,105And warn the Currors o' the Lee;As ye cum down the Hermitage Slack,Warn doughty Willie o' Gorrinberry."
The Scotts they rade, the Scotts they ran,Sae starkly and sae steadilie,110And aye the ower-word o' the thrangWas—"Rise for Branksome readilie!"
The gear was driven theFrostyleeup,Frae the Frostylee unto the plain,Whan Willie has look'd his men before,115And saw the kye right fast drivand.
"Whae drives thir kye?" gan Willie say,"To make an outspeckle o' me?""It's I, the Captain o' Bewcastle, Willie;I winna layne my name for thee."120
"O will ye let Telfer's kye gae back?Or will ye do aught for regard o' me?Or, by the faith of my body," quo' Willie Scott,"I'se ware my dame's cauf skin on thee."
"I winna let the kye gae back,125Neither for thy love, nor yet thy fear;But I will drive Jamie Telfer's kye,In spite of every Scott that's here."
"Set on them, lads!" quo' Willie than;"Fye, lads, set on them cruellie!130For ere they win to the Ritterford,Mony a toom saddle there sall be!"
Then til't they gaed, wi' heart and hand,The blows fell thick as bickering hail;And mony a horse ran masterless,135And mony a comely cheek was pale.
But Willie was stricken ower the head,And thro' the knapscap the sword has gane;And Harden grat for very rage,Whan Willie on the grund lay slane.140
But he's ta'en aff his gude steel cap,And thrice he's waved it in the air;TheDinlaysnaw was ne'er mair whiteNor the lyart locks of Harden's hair.
"Revenge! revenge!" auld Wat 'gan cry;145"Fye, lads, lay on them cruellie!We'll ne'er see Tiviotside again,Or Willie's death revenged sall be."
O mony a horse ran masterless,The splinter'd lances flew on hie;150But or they wan ta the Kershope ford,The Scotts had gotten the victory.
John o' Brighamthere was slane,And John o' Barlow, as I heard say;And thirty mae o' the Captain's men155Lay bleeding on the grund that day.
The Captain was run through the thick of the thigh,And broken was his right leg bane;If he had lived this hundred years,He had never been loved by woman again.160
"Hae back the kye!" the Captain said;"Dear kye, I trow, to some they be;For gin I suld live a hundred years,There will ne'er fair lady smile on me."
Then word is gane to the Captain's bride,165Even in the bower where that she lay,That her lord was prisoner in enemy's land,Since into Tividale he had led the way.
"I wad lourd have had a winding-sheet,And helped to put it ower his head,170Ere he had been disgraced by the Border Scot,Whan he ower Liddel his men did lead!"
There was a wild gallant amang us a',His name was Watty wi' the Wudspurs,Cried—"On for his house inStanegirthside,175If ony man will ride with us!"
When they cam to the Stanegirthside,They dang wi' trees, and burst the door;They loosed out a' the Captain's kye,And set them forth our lads before.180
There was an auld wyfe ayont the fire,A wee bit o' the Captain's kin—"Whae dar loose out the Captain's kye,Or answer to him and his men?"
"It's I, Watty Wudspurs, loose the kye,185I winna layne my name frae thee;And I will loose out the Captain's kye,In scorn of a' his men and he."
Whan they cam to the fair Dodhead,They were a wellcum sight to see;190For instead of his ain ten milk kye,Jamie Telfer has gotten thirty and three.
And he has paid the rescue shot,Baith wi' goud and white monie;And at the burial o' Willie Scott,195I wat was mony a weeping ee.
6-8. Hardhaughswire is the pass from Liddesdale to the head of Teviotdale. Borthwick water is a stream which falls into the Teviot three miles above Hawick.—S.11. The Dodhead, in Selkirkshire, near Singlee, where there are still the vestiges of an old tower.—S.28. Stobs Hall, upon Slitterick, the seat of Sir William, of that clan. Jamie Telfer made his first application here, because heseemsto have paid the proprietor of the castleblack-mail, or protection money.—S.37. The ancient family-seat of the Lairds of Buccleuch, near Hawick.—S.45-48. SeeYoung Beichan, vol. iv. p. 3.51. The Coultart Cleugh is nearly opposite to Carlinrig, on the road between Hawick and Mosspaul.—S.97. Thewater, in the mountainous districts of Scotland, is often used to express the banks of the river, which are the only inhabitable parts of the country.To raise the water, therefore, was to alarm those who lived along its side.—S.101. The estates, mentioned in this verse, belonged to families of the name of Scott, residing upon the waters of Borthwick and Teviot, near the castle of their chief.—S.105. The pursuers seem to have taken the road through the hills of Liddesdale, in order to collect forces, and intercept the forayers at the passage of the Liddel, on their return to Bewcastle. The Ritterford and Kershope-ford, after-mentioned, are noted fords on the river Liddel.—S.113. The Frostylee is a brook, which joins the Teviot, near Mosspaul.—S.143. The Dinlay is a mountain in Liddesdale.—S.153. Perhaps one of the ancient family of Brougham, in Cumberland. The Editor has used some freedom with the original in the subsequent verse. The account of the Captain's disaster is rather toonaïvefor literal publication.—S.175. A house belonging to the Foresters, situated on the English side of the Liddel.—S.196. An article in the list of attempts upon England, fouled by the Commissioners at Berwick, in the year 1587, may relate to the subject of the foregoing ballad.October, 1582.Thomas Musgrave, deputyof Bewcastle, andthe tenants, against{Walter Scott, Lairdof Buckluth, and hiscomplices; for}200 kine andoxen, 300 gaitand sheep.Introduction to the History of Westmoreland and Cumberland, p. 31.—S.
6-8. Hardhaughswire is the pass from Liddesdale to the head of Teviotdale. Borthwick water is a stream which falls into the Teviot three miles above Hawick.—S.
11. The Dodhead, in Selkirkshire, near Singlee, where there are still the vestiges of an old tower.—S.
28. Stobs Hall, upon Slitterick, the seat of Sir William, of that clan. Jamie Telfer made his first application here, because heseemsto have paid the proprietor of the castleblack-mail, or protection money.—S.
37. The ancient family-seat of the Lairds of Buccleuch, near Hawick.—S.
45-48. SeeYoung Beichan, vol. iv. p. 3.
51. The Coultart Cleugh is nearly opposite to Carlinrig, on the road between Hawick and Mosspaul.—S.
97. Thewater, in the mountainous districts of Scotland, is often used to express the banks of the river, which are the only inhabitable parts of the country.To raise the water, therefore, was to alarm those who lived along its side.—S.
101. The estates, mentioned in this verse, belonged to families of the name of Scott, residing upon the waters of Borthwick and Teviot, near the castle of their chief.—S.
105. The pursuers seem to have taken the road through the hills of Liddesdale, in order to collect forces, and intercept the forayers at the passage of the Liddel, on their return to Bewcastle. The Ritterford and Kershope-ford, after-mentioned, are noted fords on the river Liddel.—S.
113. The Frostylee is a brook, which joins the Teviot, near Mosspaul.—S.
143. The Dinlay is a mountain in Liddesdale.—S.
153. Perhaps one of the ancient family of Brougham, in Cumberland. The Editor has used some freedom with the original in the subsequent verse. The account of the Captain's disaster is rather toonaïvefor literal publication.—S.
175. A house belonging to the Foresters, situated on the English side of the Liddel.—S.
196. An article in the list of attempts upon England, fouled by the Commissioners at Berwick, in the year 1587, may relate to the subject of the foregoing ballad.
October, 1582.
Introduction to the History of Westmoreland and Cumberland, p. 31.—S.
FromMinstrelsy of the Scottish Border, ii. 124.
"Of all the Border ditties which have fallen into the Editor's hands, this is by far the most uncouth and savage. It is usually chanted in a sort of wild recitative, except the burden, which swells into a long and varied howl, not unlike to a view hollo'. The words, and the very great irregularity of the stanza (if it deserves the name) sufficiently point out its intention and origin. An English woman, residing in Suport, near the foot of the Kers-hope, having been plundered in the night by a band of the Scottish moss-troopers, is supposed to convoke her servants and friends for the pursuit, orHot Trod; upbraiding them, at thesame time, in homely phrase, for their negligence and security. TheHot Trodwas followed by the persons who had lost goods, with blood-hounds and horns, to raise the country to help. They also used to carry a burning wisp of straw at a spear head, and to raise a cry, similar to the Indian war-whoop. It appears, from articles made by the Wardens of the English Marches, September 12th, in 6th of Edward VI., that all, on this cry being raised, were obliged to follow the fray, or chase, under pain of death. With these explanations, the general purport of the ballad may be easily discovered, though particular passages have become inexplicable, probably through corruptions introduced by reciters. The present text is collected from four copies, which differed widely from each other."—S.
Sleep'ry Sim of the Lamb-hill,And snoring Jock of Suport-mill,Ye are baith right het and fou';But my wae wakens na you.Last night I saw a sorry sight—5Nought left me o' four-and-twenty gude ousen and ky,My weel-ridden gelding, and a white quey,But a toom byre and a wide,And the twelve nogs on ilka side.Fy, lads! shout a' a' a' a' a',10My gear's a' gane.Weel may ye ken,Last night I was right scarce o' men:But Toppet Hob o' the Mains had guesten'd in my house by chance;I set him to wear the fore-door wi' the speir, while I kept the back-door wi' the lance;15But they hae run him thro' the thick o' the thie, and broke his knee-pan,And the mergh o' his shin-bane has run down on his spur-leather whang:He's lame while he lives, and where'er he may gang.Fy, lads! shout a' a' a' a' a',My gear's a' gane.20But Peenye, my gude son, is out at the Hagbut-head,His een glittering for anger like a fiery gleed;Crying—"Mak sure the nooksOf Maky's-muir crooks;For the wily Scot takes by nooks, hooks, and crooks.25Gin we meet a' together in a head the morn,We'll be merry men."Fy, lads! shout a' a' a' a' a',My gear's a' gane.There's doughty Cuddy in the Heugh-head,30Thou was aye gude at a need;With thybrock-skin bagat thy belt,Aye ready to mak a puir man help.Thou maun awa' out to the Cauf-craigs,(Where anes ye lost your ain twa naigs,)35And there toom thy brock-skin bag.Fy, lads! shout a' a' a' a' a',My gear's a' ta'en.Doughty Dan o' the Houlet Hirst,Thou was aye gude at a birst;40Gude wi' a bow, and better wi' a speir,The bauldest March-man that e'er follow'd gear:Come thou here.Fy, lads! shout a' a' a' a' a',My gear's a' gane.45Rise, ye carle coopers, frae making o' kirns and tubs,In theNicol forest woods.Your craft hasna left the value of an oak rod,But if you had ony fear o' God,Last night ye hadna slept sae sound,50And let my gear be a' ta'en.Fy, lads! shout a' a' a' a' a',My gear's a' ta'en.Ah! lads, we'll fang them a' in a net,For I hae a' the fords o' Liddel set;55The Dunkin and the Door-loup,The Willie-ford, and the Water-slack,The Black-rack and the Trout-dub of Liddel.There stands John Forster, wi' five men at his back,Wi bufft coat and cap of steil.60Boo! ca' at them e'en, Jock;That ford's sicker, I wat weil.Fy, lads! shout a' a' a' a' a',My gear's a' ta'en.Hoo! hoo! gar raise the Reid Souter, and Ringan's Wat,65Wi' a broad elshin and a wicker;I wat weil they'll mak a ford sicker.Sae, whether they be Elliots or Armstrangs,Or rough-riding Scots, or rude Johnstones,Or whether they be frae the Tarras or Ewsdale,70They maun turn and fight, or try the deeps o' Liddel.Fy, lads! shout a' a' a' a' a',My gear's a' ta'en."Ah! but they will play ye anither jigg,For they will out at the big rig,75And thro' atFargy Grame's gap."But I hae another wile for that:For I hae little Will, and Stalwart Wat,And lang Aicky, in the Souter Moor,Wi' his sleuth-dog sits in his watch right sure.80Shou'd the dog gie a bark,He'll be out in his sark,And die or won.Fy, lads! shout a' a' a' a' a',My gear's a' ta'en.85Ha! boys!—I see a party appearing—wha's yon?Methinks it's theCaptain of Bewcastle, and Jephtha's John,Coming down by the foul steps ofCatlowdie's loan:They'll make a' sicker, come which way they will.Ha, lads! shout a' a' a' a' a',90My gear's a' ta'en.Captain Musgrave, and a' his band,Are coming down by the Siller-strand,And the Muckle toun-bell o' Carlisle is rung:My gear was a' weel won,95And before it's carried o'er the Border, mony a man's gae down.Fy, lads! shout a' a' a' a' a',My gear's a' gane.
Sleep'ry Sim of the Lamb-hill,And snoring Jock of Suport-mill,Ye are baith right het and fou';But my wae wakens na you.Last night I saw a sorry sight—5Nought left me o' four-and-twenty gude ousen and ky,My weel-ridden gelding, and a white quey,But a toom byre and a wide,And the twelve nogs on ilka side.Fy, lads! shout a' a' a' a' a',10My gear's a' gane.
Weel may ye ken,Last night I was right scarce o' men:But Toppet Hob o' the Mains had guesten'd in my house by chance;I set him to wear the fore-door wi' the speir, while I kept the back-door wi' the lance;15But they hae run him thro' the thick o' the thie, and broke his knee-pan,And the mergh o' his shin-bane has run down on his spur-leather whang:He's lame while he lives, and where'er he may gang.Fy, lads! shout a' a' a' a' a',My gear's a' gane.20
But Peenye, my gude son, is out at the Hagbut-head,His een glittering for anger like a fiery gleed;Crying—"Mak sure the nooksOf Maky's-muir crooks;For the wily Scot takes by nooks, hooks, and crooks.25Gin we meet a' together in a head the morn,We'll be merry men."Fy, lads! shout a' a' a' a' a',My gear's a' gane.
There's doughty Cuddy in the Heugh-head,30Thou was aye gude at a need;With thybrock-skin bagat thy belt,Aye ready to mak a puir man help.Thou maun awa' out to the Cauf-craigs,(Where anes ye lost your ain twa naigs,)35And there toom thy brock-skin bag.Fy, lads! shout a' a' a' a' a',My gear's a' ta'en.
Doughty Dan o' the Houlet Hirst,Thou was aye gude at a birst;40Gude wi' a bow, and better wi' a speir,The bauldest March-man that e'er follow'd gear:Come thou here.Fy, lads! shout a' a' a' a' a',My gear's a' gane.45
Rise, ye carle coopers, frae making o' kirns and tubs,In theNicol forest woods.Your craft hasna left the value of an oak rod,But if you had ony fear o' God,Last night ye hadna slept sae sound,50And let my gear be a' ta'en.Fy, lads! shout a' a' a' a' a',My gear's a' ta'en.
Ah! lads, we'll fang them a' in a net,For I hae a' the fords o' Liddel set;55The Dunkin and the Door-loup,The Willie-ford, and the Water-slack,The Black-rack and the Trout-dub of Liddel.There stands John Forster, wi' five men at his back,Wi bufft coat and cap of steil.60Boo! ca' at them e'en, Jock;That ford's sicker, I wat weil.Fy, lads! shout a' a' a' a' a',My gear's a' ta'en.
Hoo! hoo! gar raise the Reid Souter, and Ringan's Wat,65Wi' a broad elshin and a wicker;I wat weil they'll mak a ford sicker.Sae, whether they be Elliots or Armstrangs,Or rough-riding Scots, or rude Johnstones,Or whether they be frae the Tarras or Ewsdale,70They maun turn and fight, or try the deeps o' Liddel.Fy, lads! shout a' a' a' a' a',My gear's a' ta'en.
"Ah! but they will play ye anither jigg,For they will out at the big rig,75And thro' atFargy Grame's gap."But I hae another wile for that:For I hae little Will, and Stalwart Wat,And lang Aicky, in the Souter Moor,Wi' his sleuth-dog sits in his watch right sure.80Shou'd the dog gie a bark,He'll be out in his sark,And die or won.Fy, lads! shout a' a' a' a' a',My gear's a' ta'en.85
Ha! boys!—I see a party appearing—wha's yon?Methinks it's theCaptain of Bewcastle, and Jephtha's John,Coming down by the foul steps ofCatlowdie's loan:They'll make a' sicker, come which way they will.Ha, lads! shout a' a' a' a' a',90My gear's a' ta'en.
Captain Musgrave, and a' his band,Are coming down by the Siller-strand,And the Muckle toun-bell o' Carlisle is rung:My gear was a' weel won,95And before it's carried o'er the Border, mony a man's gae down.Fy, lads! shout a' a' a' a' a',My gear's a' gane.
32. The badger-skin pouch was used for carrying ammunition.—S.47. A wood in Cumberland, in which Suport is situated.—S.76. Fergus Grame of Sowport, as one of the chief men of that clan, became security to Lord Scroope for the good behaviour of his friends and dependents, 8th January, 1662.—Introduction to History of Westmoreland and Cumberland, p. 111.—S.87-8. According to the late Glenriddel's notes on this ballad, the office of Captain Bewcastle was held by the chief of the Nixons. Catlowdie is a small village in Cumberland, near the junction of the Esk and Liddel.—S.92. This was probably the famous Captain Jack Musgrave, who had charge of the watch along the Cryssop, or Kershope, as appears from the order of the watches appointed by Lord Wharton, when Deputy-Warden-General, in the 6th Edward VI.—S.
32. The badger-skin pouch was used for carrying ammunition.—S.
47. A wood in Cumberland, in which Suport is situated.—S.
76. Fergus Grame of Sowport, as one of the chief men of that clan, became security to Lord Scroope for the good behaviour of his friends and dependents, 8th January, 1662.—Introduction to History of Westmoreland and Cumberland, p. 111.—S.
87-8. According to the late Glenriddel's notes on this ballad, the office of Captain Bewcastle was held by the chief of the Nixons. Catlowdie is a small village in Cumberland, near the junction of the Esk and Liddel.—S.
92. This was probably the famous Captain Jack Musgrave, who had charge of the watch along the Cryssop, or Kershope, as appears from the order of the watches appointed by Lord Wharton, when Deputy-Warden-General, in the 6th Edward VI.—S.
"A Bishopric Border song, composed in 1569, taken down from the chanting of George Collingwood the elder, late of Boltsburn, in the neighbourhood of Ryhope, who was interred at Stanhope, the 16th December, 1785.
"Rookhope is the name of a valley about five miles in length; at the termination of which, Rookhope burn empties itself into the river Wear, and is in the north part of the parish of Stanhope, in Weardale. Rookhope-head is the top of the vale."—Ritson.
The date of the event, says Sir W. Scott, is precisely ascertained to be (not 1569 but) the 6th of December, 1572, when the Tynedale robbers were encouraged to make a foray into Weardale in consequence of the confusion occasioned by the rebellion of Westmoreland and Northumberland.
From Ritson'sBishopric Garland(p. 54), with oneor two slight verbal improvements from theMinstrelsy of the Scottish Border, ii. 101.
Rookhope stands in a pleasant place,If the false thieves wad let it be,But away they steal our goods apace,And ever an ill death may they dee!And so is the men ofThirlwalland Willie-haver,5And all their companies thereabout,That is minded to do mischief,And at their stealing stands not out.But yet we will not slander them all,For there is of them good enow;10It is a sore consumed treeThat on it bears not one fresh bough.Lord God! is not this a pitiful case,That men dare not drive their goods to the fell,But limmer thieves drives them away,15That fears neither heaven nor hell?Lord, send us peace into the realm,That every man may live on his own!I trust to God, if it be his will,That Weardale men may never be overthrown.20For great troubles they've had in hand,With borderers pricking hither and thither,But the greatest fray that e'er they had,Was with the men of Thirlwall and Willie-haver.They gather'd together so royally,25The stoutest men and the best in gear;And he that rade not on a horse,I wat he rade on a weel-fed mear.So in the morning, before they came out,So weel I wot they broke their fast;30In the [forenoon they came] unto a bye fell,Where some of them did eat their last.When they had eaten aye and done,They say'd some captains here needs must be:Then they choosed forth Harry Corbyl,35And 'Symon Fell,' and Martin Ridley.Then o'er the moss, where as they came,With many a brank and whew,One of them could to another say,"I think this day we are men enew.40"For Weardale-men is a journey ta'en;They are so far out o'er yon fell,That some of them's with thetwo earls,And others fast in Bernard castell."There we shall get gear enough,45For there is nane but women at hame;The sorrowful fend that they can make,Isloudlycries as they were slain."Then in at Rookhope-head they came,And there they thought tul a had their prey,50But they were spy'd coming over the Dry-rig,Soon uponSaint Nicolas' day.Then in at Rookhope-head they came,They ran the forest but a mile;They gather'd together in four hours55Six hundred sheep within a while.And horses I trow they gat,But either ane or twa,And they gat them all but aneThat belang'd to great Rowley.60That Rowley was the first man that did them spy,With that he raised a mighty cry;The cry it came down Rookhope burn,And spread through Weardale hasteyly.Then word came to the bailiff's house65At theEast-gate, where he did dwell;He was walk'd out to the Smale-burns,Which stands above the Hanging-well.His wife was wae when she heard tell,So weel she wist her husband wanted gear;70She gar'd saddle him his horse in haste,And neither forgot sword, jack, nor spear.The bailiff got wit before his gear came,That such news was in the land,He was sore troubled in his heart,75That on no earth that he could stand.His brother was hurt three days before,With limmer thieves that did him prick;Nineteen bloody wounds lay him upon,What ferly was't that he lay sick?80But yet the bailiff shrinked nought,But fast after them he did hye,And so did all his neighbours near,That went to bear him company.But when the bailiff was gathered,85And all his company,They were numbered to never a manBut forty under fifty.The thieves was numbered a hundred men,I wat they were not of the worst90That could be choosed out of Thirlwall and Willie-haver,[I trow they were the very first.]But all that was in Rookhope-head,And all that was i' Nuketon-cleugh,Where Weardale-men o'ertook the thieves,95And there they gave them fighting eneugh.So sore they made them fain to flee,As many was 'a'' out of hand,And, for tul have been at home again,They would have been in iron bands.100And for the space of long seven yearsAs sore they mighten a' had their lives,But there was never one of themThat ever thought to have seen their 'wives.'About the time the fray began,105I trow it lasted but an hour,Till many a man lay weaponless,And was sore wounded in that stour.Also before that hour was done,Four of the thieves were slain,110Besides all those that wounded were,And eleven prisoners there was ta'en.George Carrick, and his brother Edie,Them two, I wot they were both slain;Harry Corbyl, and Lennie Carrick,115Bore them company in their pain.One of our Weardale-men was slain,Rowland Emerson his name hight;I trust to God his soul is well,Because he 'fought' unto the right.120But thus they say'd, "We'll not departWhile we have one:—speed back again!"And when they came amongst the dead men,There they found George Carrick slain.And when they found George Carrick slain,125I wot it went well near their 'heart;'Lord, let them never make a better end,That comes to play them sicken a 'part.'I trust to God, no more they shall,Except it be one for a great chance;130For God will punish all thoseWith a great heavy pestilence.Thir limmer thieves, they have good hearts,They nevir think to be o'erthrown;Three banners against Weardale-men they bare,135As if the world had been all their own.Thir Weardale-men, they have good hearts,They are as stiff as any tree;For, if they'd every one been slain,Never a foot back man would flee.140And such a storm amongst them fellAs I think you never heard the like,For he that bears his head so high,He oft-times falls into the dyke.And now I do entreat you all,145As many as are present here.To pray for [the] singer of this song,For he sings to make blithe your cheer.
Rookhope stands in a pleasant place,If the false thieves wad let it be,But away they steal our goods apace,And ever an ill death may they dee!
And so is the men ofThirlwalland Willie-haver,5And all their companies thereabout,That is minded to do mischief,And at their stealing stands not out.
But yet we will not slander them all,For there is of them good enow;10It is a sore consumed treeThat on it bears not one fresh bough.
Lord God! is not this a pitiful case,That men dare not drive their goods to the fell,But limmer thieves drives them away,15That fears neither heaven nor hell?
Lord, send us peace into the realm,That every man may live on his own!I trust to God, if it be his will,That Weardale men may never be overthrown.20
For great troubles they've had in hand,With borderers pricking hither and thither,But the greatest fray that e'er they had,Was with the men of Thirlwall and Willie-haver.
They gather'd together so royally,25The stoutest men and the best in gear;And he that rade not on a horse,I wat he rade on a weel-fed mear.
So in the morning, before they came out,So weel I wot they broke their fast;30In the [forenoon they came] unto a bye fell,Where some of them did eat their last.
When they had eaten aye and done,They say'd some captains here needs must be:Then they choosed forth Harry Corbyl,35And 'Symon Fell,' and Martin Ridley.
Then o'er the moss, where as they came,With many a brank and whew,One of them could to another say,"I think this day we are men enew.40
"For Weardale-men is a journey ta'en;They are so far out o'er yon fell,That some of them's with thetwo earls,And others fast in Bernard castell.
"There we shall get gear enough,45For there is nane but women at hame;The sorrowful fend that they can make,Isloudlycries as they were slain."
Then in at Rookhope-head they came,And there they thought tul a had their prey,50But they were spy'd coming over the Dry-rig,Soon uponSaint Nicolas' day.
Then in at Rookhope-head they came,They ran the forest but a mile;They gather'd together in four hours55Six hundred sheep within a while.
And horses I trow they gat,But either ane or twa,And they gat them all but aneThat belang'd to great Rowley.60
That Rowley was the first man that did them spy,With that he raised a mighty cry;The cry it came down Rookhope burn,And spread through Weardale hasteyly.
Then word came to the bailiff's house65At theEast-gate, where he did dwell;He was walk'd out to the Smale-burns,Which stands above the Hanging-well.
His wife was wae when she heard tell,So weel she wist her husband wanted gear;70She gar'd saddle him his horse in haste,And neither forgot sword, jack, nor spear.
The bailiff got wit before his gear came,That such news was in the land,He was sore troubled in his heart,75That on no earth that he could stand.
His brother was hurt three days before,With limmer thieves that did him prick;Nineteen bloody wounds lay him upon,What ferly was't that he lay sick?80
But yet the bailiff shrinked nought,But fast after them he did hye,And so did all his neighbours near,That went to bear him company.
But when the bailiff was gathered,85And all his company,They were numbered to never a manBut forty under fifty.
The thieves was numbered a hundred men,I wat they were not of the worst90That could be choosed out of Thirlwall and Willie-haver,[I trow they were the very first.]
But all that was in Rookhope-head,And all that was i' Nuketon-cleugh,Where Weardale-men o'ertook the thieves,95And there they gave them fighting eneugh.
So sore they made them fain to flee,As many was 'a'' out of hand,And, for tul have been at home again,They would have been in iron bands.100
And for the space of long seven yearsAs sore they mighten a' had their lives,But there was never one of themThat ever thought to have seen their 'wives.'
About the time the fray began,105I trow it lasted but an hour,Till many a man lay weaponless,And was sore wounded in that stour.
Also before that hour was done,Four of the thieves were slain,110Besides all those that wounded were,And eleven prisoners there was ta'en.
George Carrick, and his brother Edie,Them two, I wot they were both slain;Harry Corbyl, and Lennie Carrick,115Bore them company in their pain.
One of our Weardale-men was slain,Rowland Emerson his name hight;I trust to God his soul is well,Because he 'fought' unto the right.120
But thus they say'd, "We'll not departWhile we have one:—speed back again!"And when they came amongst the dead men,There they found George Carrick slain.
And when they found George Carrick slain,125I wot it went well near their 'heart;'Lord, let them never make a better end,That comes to play them sicken a 'part.'
I trust to God, no more they shall,Except it be one for a great chance;130For God will punish all thoseWith a great heavy pestilence.
Thir limmer thieves, they have good hearts,They nevir think to be o'erthrown;Three banners against Weardale-men they bare,135As if the world had been all their own.
Thir Weardale-men, they have good hearts,They are as stiff as any tree;For, if they'd every one been slain,Never a foot back man would flee.140
And such a storm amongst them fellAs I think you never heard the like,For he that bears his head so high,He oft-times falls into the dyke.
And now I do entreat you all,145As many as are present here.To pray for [the] singer of this song,For he sings to make blithe your cheer.