"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."120
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?"
They scarce the ither side had won,125
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;130
Then out he cries—"Ye the pris'ner may take,
But leave the irons, I pray, to me."
"I wat weel no," cry'd the Laird's Jock,
"I'll keep them a'; shoon to my mare they'll be:
My good grey mare—for I am sure,135
She's bought them a' fu' dear frae thee."
Sae now they're away for Liddisdale,
E'en as fast as they cou'd them hie;
The pris'ner 's brought to his ain fire-side,
And there o's aims they make him free.140
"Now, Jock, my billie," 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 gard fill up ae punch-bowl,145
And after it they maun hae anither,
And thus the night they a' hae spent,
Just as they had been brither and brither.