He has call’d him forty marchmen bauld, I trow they were of his ain name, Except Sir Gilbert Elliot, call’d The laird of Stobs, I mean the same.
He has call’d him forty marchmen bauld, Were kinsmen to the bauld Buccleuch; With spur on heel, and splent on spauld, And gleuves of green, and feathers blue.
There were five and five before them a’, Wi’ hunting-horns and bugles bright; And five and five came wi’ Buccleuch, Like warden’s men, arrayed for fight.
And five and five, like a mason gang, That carried the ladders lang and hie; And five and five, like broken men; And so they reached the Woodhouselee.
And as we cross’d the Bateable Land, When to the English side we held, The first o’ men that we met wi’, Whae sould it be but fause Sakelde?
‘Where be ye gaun, ye hunters keen?’ Quo’ fause Sakelde; ’come tell to me!’ ‘We go to hunt an English stag, Has trespass’d on the Scots countrie.
‘Where be ye gaun, ye marshal men?’ Quo’ fause Sakelde; ‘come tell me true! ‘We go to catch a rank reiver, Has broken faith wi’ the bauld Buccleuch.’
‘Where are ye gaun, ye mason lads, Wi’ a’ your ladders, lang and hie?’ ‘We gang to herry a corbie’s nest, That wons not far frae Woodhouselee.’
‘Where be ye gaun ye broken men?’ Quo’ fause Sakelde; ‘come tell to me!’ Now Dickie of Dryhope led that band, And the never a word o’ lear had he.
‘Why trespass ye on the English side? Row-footed outlaws, stand!’ quo’ he; The nevir a word had Dickie to say, Sae he thrust the lance through his fause bodie.