JOCK O' THE SIDE
Now Liddesdale has ridden a raid,
But I wot they had better stayed at hame;
For Mitchell o' Winfield he is dead,
And my son Johnnie is prisoner tane.
With my fa ding diddle, la la low diddle.
For Mangerton-House Auld Downie is gane,
Her coats she has kilted up to her knee;
And down the water wi' speed she rins,
While tears in spates fa fast frae her eye.
spates, torrents.
Then up and bespake the Lord Mangerton,
"What news, what news, sister Downie, to me?"
"Bad news, bad news, my Lord Mangerton'
Mitchell is kill'd, and tane they hae my son Johnnie."
"Ne'er fear, sister Downie," quo* Mangerton;
"I hae yokes of oxen, four and twenty;
My barns, my byres, and my faulds, a' weel fill'd,
And I'll part wi' them a', ere Johnnie shall die.
"Three men I'll take to set him free,
Weel harness'd a' wi' best o' steel;
The English rogues may hear, and dree
The weight o' their braid-swords to feel.
"The Laird's Jock ane, the Laird's Wat twa,
O Hobie Noble, thou ane maun be;
Thy coat is blue, thou hast been true,
Since England banish'd thee, to me."
Now Hobie was an English man,
In Bewcastle-dale was bred and born;
But his misdeeds they were sae great,
They banish'd him ne'er to return.
Lord Mangerton them orders gave,
"Your horses the wrang way maun a' be shod;
Like gentlemen ye must not seem,
But look like corn-caugers gawn ae road.
byres, cow-houses. dree, suffer. caugers, carriers or dealers.
"Your armour gude ye maunna show,
Nor ance appear like men o' weir;
As country lads be all array'd,
Wi' branks and brecham on ilk mare."
Sae now a' their horses are shod the wrang way,
And Hobie has mounted his grey sae fine;
Jock his lively bay, Wat's on his white horse behind,
And on they rode for the water o' Tyne.
At the Choler-ford they a' light down,
And there, wi' the help o' the light o' the moon,
A tree they cut, wi' fifteen nags upo' ilk side,
To climb up the wa' o' Newcastle town.
But when they came to Newcastle town,
And were alighted at the wa',
They found their tree three ells o'er laigh,
They found their stick baith short and sma.
Then up and spake the Laird's ain Jock,
"There's naething for't, the gates we maun force;"
But when they came the gates unto,
A proud porter withstood baith men and horse.
weir, war. branks, rope bridles. brecham, collar. tree, pole. nags, notches. laigh, low.
His neck in twa I wot they hae wrung,
Wi' hand or foot he ne'er play'd paw;
His life and his keys at ance they hae tane,
And cast his body ahind the wa'.
Now soon they reach Newcastle jail,
And to the pris ner thus they call;
"Sleeps thou, wakes thou, Jock o' the side,
Or is thou wearied o' thy thrall?"
Jock answers thus, wi' dolefu' tone—
"Aft, aft I wake—I seldom sleep:
But wha's this kens my name sae weel,
And thus to hear my waes does seek?"
Then up spake the good Lairds Jock,
"Neer fear ye now, my billy," quo' he;
"For here's the Laird's Jock, the Laird's Wat,
And Hobie Noble, come to set thee free."
"O hald thy tongue, and speak nae mair,
And o' thy talk now let me be;
For if a' Liddisdale were here the night,
The morn's the day that I maun die.
"Full fifteen stane o' Spanish iron,
They hae laid a' right sair on me;
Wi' locks and keys I am fast bound
Into this dungeon mirk and dreary."
ne'er played paw, never stirred.
"Fear ye no that," quo' the Laird's Jock -,
"A faint heart ne'er won a fair lady;
Work thou within, well work without,
And I'll be bound we set thee free."
The first strong door that they came at,
They loosed it without a key;
The next chained door that they came at,
They gar'd it a' in flinders flee.
The pris'ner now, upo' his back,
The Laird's Jock's gotten up fu' high;
And down the stair, him, irons and a',
Wi' nae sma' speed and joy brings he.
"Now, Jock, I wot," quo' Hobie Noble,
"Part o' the weight ye may lay on me;"
"I wot weel no!" quo' the Laird's Jock,
"I count him lighter than a flea."
Sae out at the gates they a' are gane,
The pris'ner's set on horseback high;
And now wi' speed they've tane the gate,
While ilk ane jokes fu' wantonly.
"O Jock, sae winsomely's ye ride,
Wi' baith your feet upo' ae side!
Sae weel's ye're harness'd, and sae trig,
In troth, ye sit like ony bride!"
gar'd, made. flinders, splinters. trig, trim.
The night, thou wot, they didna mind,
But hied them on fu' merrily,
Until they came to Choler-ford brae,
Where the water ran like mountains high.
But when they came to Choler-ford,
There they met with an auld man;
Says—"Honest man, will the water ride?
Tell us in haste, if that ye can."
"I wot weel no," quo' the good old man;
"Here I hae lived this thirty years and three,
And I ne'er yet saw the Tyne sae big,
Nor rinnin' ance sae like a sea."
Then up and spake the Laird's saft Wat,
The greatest coward in the company—
"Now halt, now halt, we needna try't;
The day is com'd we a' maun die!"
"Poor faint-hearted thief!" quo' the Laird's ain Jock,
"There'll nae man die but he that's fie;
I'll lead ye a' right safely through;
Lift ye the pris'ner on ahint me."
Sae now the water they a' hae tane,
By anes and twas they a' swam through;
"Here are we a' safe," says the Laird's Jock,
"And, poor faint Wat, what think ye now?"
fie, predestined.
They scarce the ither side had won,
When twenty men they saw pursue;
Frae Newcastle town they had been sent,
A' English lads, right good and true.
But when the land-sergeant the water saw,
"It winna ride, my lads," quo' he;
Then out he cries—"Ye the pris'ner may take,
But leave the irons, I pray, to me."
"I wot weel no," cry'd the Lairds Jock,
"I'll keep them a'; shoon to my mare they'll be:
My good grey mare—for I am sure,
She's bought them a fu' dear frae thee."
Sae now they're away for Liddisdale,
E'en as fast as they could them hie;
The pris'ner's brought to his ain fire-side,
And there o's airns they make him free.
"Now, Jock, my billy," quo' a' the three,
"The day was com'd thou was to die;
But thou's as weel at thy ain fire-side,
Now sitting, I think, 'tween thee and me."
They hae gar'd fill up ae punch-bowl,
And after it they maun hae anither,
And thus the night they a' hae spent,
Just as they had been brither and brither.
airns, irons.