O Jockie Ha’ stepp’d to the door,
And he bended low back on his knee,
And he made the bolts that the door hang on,
Loup frae the wa’ right wantonlie.
XXI
He took the prisoner on his back,
And down the tolbooth stair cam he;
The black mare stood ready at the door,
I wot a foot ne’er stirrèd she.
XXII
They laid the links out owre her neck,
And that was her gold twist to be;
And they cam doun thro’ Dumfries toun,
And wow but they cam speedilie.
XXIII
The live-lang night these twelve men rade,
And aye till they were right wearie,
Until they cam to the Murraywhat,
And they lighted there right speedilie.
XXIV
‘A smith! a smith!’ then Dickie he cries,
‘A smith, a smith, right speedilie,
To file the irons frae my dear brither!
For forward, forward we wad be.’—