Good Lord Scroope to the hills is gane, Hunting of the fallow deer; And he has grippit Hughie the Græme For stealing of 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 tried.’
‘I ne'er was afraid of a traitor thief; Although thy name be Hughie the Græme, I'll make thee repent thee of thy deeds, If God but grant me life and time.’
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 bold Hughie the Græme.
O then they grippit Hughie the Græme, And brought him up through Carlisle town: The lads and lasses stood on the walls, Crying, ‘Hughie the Græme, thou'se ne'er gae down!’
‘O loose my right hand free,’ he says, ‘And gie me my sword o' the metal sae fine, He's no in Carlisle town this day Daur tell the tale to Hughie the Græme.’
Up then and spake the brave Whitefoord, As he sat by the Bishop's knee, ‘Twenty white owsen, my gude lord, If ye'll grant Hughie the Græme to me.’
‘O haud your tongue,’ the Bishop says, ‘And wi' your pleading let me be; For tho' ten Grahams were in his coat, They suld be hangit a' for me.’
Up then and spake the fair Whitefoord, As she sat by the Bishop's knee, ‘A peck o' white pennies, my good lord, If ye'll grant Hughie the Græme to me.’
‘O haud your tongue now, lady fair, Forsooth, and so it sall na be; Were he but the one Graham of the name, He suld be hangit high for me.’