THE MARCH
He has called him forty Marchmen bold, I trow they were of his ain name, Except Sir Gilbert Elliot, called The Laird of Stobs, I mean the same.
He has called him forty Marchmen bold, Were kinsmen to the bold Buccleuch; With spur on heel, and splent on spauld, And gluves of green, and feathers blue.
There were five and five before them a', Wi' hunting-horns and bugles bright: And five and five cam' wi' Buccleuch, Like warden's men, arrayed for fight.
And five and five like a mason gang That carried the ladders lang and hie; And five and five like broken men; And so they reached the Woodhouselee.
And as we crossed the 'Bateable Land, When to the English side we held, The first o' men that we met wi', Whae suld it be but fause Sakelde?
‘Where be ye gaun, ye hunters keen?’ Quo' fause Sakelde; ‘come tell to me!’ ‘We go to hunt an English stag Has trespassed on the Scots countrie.’
‘Where be ye gaun, ye marshal men?’ Quo' fause Sakelde; ‘come tell me true!’ ‘We go to catch a rank reiver Has broken faith wi' the bold Buccleuch.’
‘Where are ye gaun, ye mason lads, Wi' a' your ladders lang and hie?’ ‘We gang to herry a corbie's nest That wons not far frae Woodhouselee.’
‘Where be ye gaun, ye broken men?’ Quo' fause Sakelde; ‘come tell to me!’ Now Dickie of Dryhope led that band, And the never a word of lear had he.
‘Why trespass ye on the English side? Row-footed outlaws, stand!’ quo' he; The never a word had Dickie to say, Sae he thrust the lance through his fause bodie.
Then on we held for Carlisle toun, And at Staneshaw-Bank the Eden we crossed; The water was great and meikle of spait, But the never a horse nor man we lost.
And when we reached the Staneshaw-Bank, The wind was rising loud and hie; And there the Laird garred leave our steeds, For fear that they should stamp and neigh.
And when we left the Staneshaw-Bank, The wind began full loud to blaw; But 'twas wind and weet, and fire and sleet, When we came beneath the castle wa'.
We crept on knees, and held our breath, Till we placed the ladders against the wa'; And sae ready was Buccleuch himsell To mount the first before us a'.
He has ta'en the watchman by the throat, He flung him down upon the lead: ‘Had there not been peace between our lands, Upon the other side thou'dst gaed!
Now sound out, trumpets!’ quo' Buccleuch; ‘Let's waken Lord Scroope right merrilie!’ Then loud the warden's trumpet blew O wha dare meddle wi' me?