Classic Poem

Foul fa' the breast first treason bred in:
That Liddisdale may safely say,
For in it there was baith meat and drink
And corn unto our geldings gay.
Fala la diddle, & c.

We were stout hearted men and true,
As England it did often say;
But now we may turn our backs and fly
Since brave Noble is sel'd away.

Now Hobie he was an English man
And born into Bewcastle dale,
But his misdeeds they were sae great
They banish'd him to Liddisdale.

At Kershope foot the tryst was set,
Kershope of the lily lee;
And there was traitour Sim o' the Mains,
With him a private companie.

Then Hobie has graith'd his body weel,
I wat it was wi' baith good iron and steel;
And he has pull'd out his fringed grey,
And there brave Noble he rade him weel.

Then Hobie is down the water gane
E'en as fast as he may drie;
Tho' they shou'd a brusten and broken their hearts,
Frae that tryst Noble he would not be.

Weel may ye be, my feiries five!
And aye, what is your wills wi' me?
Then they cry'd a' wi' ae consent,
Thou'rt welcome here, brave Noble, to me.

Wilt thou with us in England ride?
And thy safe warrand we will be,
If we get a horse worth a hundred punds,
Upon his back that thou shalt be.

I dare not with you into England ride,
The land-sergeant has me at feid;
I know not what evil may betide,
For Peter of Whitfield his brother is dead.

And Anton Shiel he loves not me,
For I gat twa drifts of his sheep;
The great Earl of Whitfield loves me not,
For nae gear frae me he e'er cou'd keep.

But will ye stay till the day gae down,
Until the night come o'er the grund,
And I'll be a guide worth ony twa
That may in Liddisdale be fund.

Tho' dark the night as pick and tar,
I'll lead ye o'er yon hills fu' hie,
And bring ye a' in safety back
If you'll be true and follow me.

He 's guided them o'er moss and muir,
O'er hill and houp and mony ae down,
Till they came to the Foul-bog-shiel;
And there brave Noble he lighted down.

Then word is gane to the land-sergeant
In Askirtoun where that he lay:
The deer that ye hae hunted lang
Is seen into the Waste this day.

Then Hobie Noble is that deer,
I wat he carries the style fu' hie;
Aft has he beat your slough-hounds back
And set yourselves at little [e'e].

Gar warn the bows of Hartlie-Burn,
See they sha[ft] their arrows on the wa';
Warn Willeva and Spear Edom
And see the morn they meet me a'.

Gar meet me on the Rodrie-haugh,
And see it be by break o' day;
And we will on to Conscowthart Green,
And there, I think, we'll get our prey.

Then Hobie Noble has dream'd a dream
In the Foul-bog-shiel where that he lay;
He thought his horse was 'neath him shot
And he himself got hard away.

The cocks could cr[a]w and the day could da[w],
And I wat so even down fell the rain;
If Hobie had no waken'd at that time
In the Foul-bog-shiel he had been tane or slain.

Get up, get up, my feiries five,
For I wat here makes a fu' ill day;
And the warst clock of this companie
I hope shall cross the Waste this day.

Now Hobie thought the gates were clear
But, ever alas, it was not sae;
They were beset wi' cruel men and keen
That away brave Noble could not gae.

Yet follow me, my feiries five,
And see of me ye keep good ray,
And the worst clock of this companie
I hope shall cross the Waste this day.

There was heaps of men now Hobie before,
And other heaps was him behind,
That had he been as wight as Wallace was
Away brave Noble he could not win.

Then Hobie he had but a laddie's sword,
But he did more than a laddie's deed;
In the midst of Conscowthart Green
He brake it o'er Jersawigham's head.

Now they have tane brave Hobie Noble,
Wi' his ain bow-string they band him sae;
And I wat his heart was ne'er sae sair
As when his ain five band him on the brae.

They have tane him [on] for West Carlisle,
They ask'd him if he knew the way;
Whate'er he thought, yet little he said;
He knew the way as well as they.

They hae tane him up the Ricker-gate;
The wives they cast their windows wide,
And ilka wife to anither can say,
That 's the man loos'd Jock o' the Side.

Fy on ye, women; why ca' ye me man?
For it 's nae man that I'm us'd like;
I'm but like a forfoughen hound
Has been fighting in a dirty syke.

Then they hae tane 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.

Then they gave him a wheat loaf to eat,
And after that a can o' beer;
Then they cried a' wi' ae consent,
Eat, brave Noble, and make good cheer!

Confess my lord's horse, Hobie, they say,
And the morn in Carlisle thou 's no die;
How shall I confess them? Hobie says,
For I never saw them with mine eye.

Then Hobie has sworn a fu' great aith,
By the day that he was gotten or born,
He never had ony thing o' my lord's
That either eat his grass of corn.

Now fare thee weel, sweet Mangerton,
For I think again I'll ne'er the[e] see;
I wad betray nae lad alive
For a' the goud in Christentie.

And fare thee weel now, Liddisdale,
Baith the hie land and the law;
Keep ye weel frae traitor Mains,
For goud and gear he'll sell ye a'.

I'd rather be ca'd Hobie Noble
In Carlisle where he suffers for his faut,
Before I were ca'd traitor Mains
That eats and drinks of meal and maut.
Fala, & c.