HUGHIE THE GRÆME.
Gude Lord Scroope's to the hunting gane,
He has ridden our moss and muir;
And he has grippit Hughie the Græme,
For stealing o' the bishop's mare.
"Now, Good Lord Scroope, this may not be!
Here hangs a broadsword by my side;
And if that thou canst conquer me,
The matter it may soon be tryed.
"I ne'er was afraid of a traitor thief,
Although my name be Hughie the Græme;
I'll make thee repent thee of thy deeds,
If God but grant me life and time.
"Then do your worst now, good Lord Scroope,
And deal your blows as hard as you can;
It shall be tried within an hour,
Which of us two is the better man."
But as they were dealing their blows so free,
And both so bloody at the time,
Over the moss came ten yeomen so tall,
All for to take brave Hughie the Græme.
Then they ha'e gribbit Hughie the Græme,
And brought him up through Carlisle town;
The lasses and lads stood on the walls,
Crying, "Hughie the Græme, thou'se ne'er gae down!"
Then ha'e they chosen a jury of men,
The best that were in Carlisle town:
And twelve of them cried out at once,
"Hughie the Græme, thou must gae down!"
Then up bespake him gude Lord Hume,
As he sat by the judge's knee:
"Twenty white owsen, my gude Lord,
If you'll grant Hughie the Græme to me."
"O no, O no, my gude Lord Hume!
Forsooth, and sae it mauna be;
For were there but three Græmes of the name,
They suld be hanged a' for me."
'Twas up and spake the gude Lady Hume,
As she sat by the judge's knee:
"A peck of white pennies, my gude lord judge,
If you'll grant Hughie the Græme to me."
"O no, O no, my gude Lady Hume!
Forsooth and so it mustna be;
Were he but the one Græme of the name,
He suld be hanged high for me."
"If I be guilty," said Hughie the Græme,
"Of me my friends shall have small talk:"
And he has leaped fifteen feet and three,
Tho' his hands they were tied behind his back.
He looked over his left shoulder,
And for to see what he might see;
There was he aware of his ould father,
Came tearing his hair most piteously.
"O hauld your tongue, my father," he says,
"And see that ye dinna weep for me!
For they may ravish me o' my life,
But they canna banish me fro' heaven hie.
"Fare ye weel, fair Maggie, my wife!
The last time we came ower the muir,
'Twas thou bereft me of my life,
And wi' the bishop thou play'd the whore.
"Here, Johnnie Armstrong, take thou my sword,
That is made o' the metal sae fine;
And when thou comest to the English side,
Remember the death of Hughie the Græme."
There are two or more versions of the foregoing: one in Ritson's Collection; and one communicated by Burns to Johnson's Museum. The ballad of Hobbie Noble relates to a hero of the same stamp, who suffered about the same period, at the same place, for a similar love for English oxen and sheep. Hobbie was an Englishman; who, finding less difference in the laws of "mine and thine" on the Scotch side of the border, and more sympathy with such loose notions of property as he possessed, established himself among the Scotch, and helped them to ravage the country to Carlisle southward, whenever opportunity offered. The Scotch, however, proved false to him. The Armstrongs, amongst whom he was residing, were bribed by the English to decoy him over the border upon pretence of a raid or foray; where he was delivered up to a party from Carlisle castle, that had long been on the look-out for him. By these he was taken to Carlisle, and hanged on Hairibee in less than twenty-four hours afterwards.