But word is gane to the Land-sergeant,
In Askirton where that he lay—
“The deer that ye hae hunted 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 beat your slough-hounds back,
And set yourselves at little lee.
“Gar warn the bows of Hartlie-burn;
See they shaft their arrows on the wa’!
Warn Willeva and Spear 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 Conscowthart-Green,
For there, I think, we’ll get our prey.”
Then Hobbie Noble has dream’d a dream,
In the Foulbogshiel, where that he lay;
He thought his horse was neath him shot,
And he himself got hard away.
The cocks could crow, the day could dawn,
And I wot so even down fell the rain;
If Hobbie had no waken’d at that time,
In the Foulbogshiel he had been tane or slain.
“Get up, get up, my feiries five!
For I wot here makes a fu’ ill day;
Yet the warst cloak of this companie,
I hope, shall cross the Waste this day.”
Now Hobie thought the gates were clear;
But, ever alas! it was not sae:
They were beset wi’ cruel men and keen,
That away brave Hobbie could not gae.
“Yet follow me, my feiries five,
And see of me ye keep good ray;
And the worst cloak o’ this companie
I hope shall cross the Waste this day.”
There was heaps of men now Hobbie before,
And other heaps was him behind,
That had he wight as Wallace was,
Away brave Noble he could not win.