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;