‘Fy on ye, women! why ca’ ye me man?
For it’s nae man that I’m used like;
I’m but like a forfoughen[1204] hound,
Has been fighting in a dirty syke[1205].’
XXIX
Then they hae ta’en him up thro’ Carlisle town,
And set him by the chimney-fire;
They gave brave Noble a wheat loaf to eat,
And that was little his desire.
XXX
They gave him a wheaten loaf to eat
And after that a can of beer;
Then they cried a’, wi’ ae consent,
‘Eat, brave Noble, and make good cheer!
XXXI
‘Confess my lord’s horse, Hobbie,’ they say,
‘And the morn in Carlisle thou’se no dee.’—
‘How shall I confess them?’ Hobbie says,
‘For I never saw them with mine e’e.’
XXXII
Then Hobbie has sworn a fu’ great aith,
By the day that he was gotten or born,
He never had onything o’ my lord’s
That either ate him grass or corn.