Classic Poem

Now Liddesdale has ridden a raid,
Wi' my fa ding diddle, lal low dow diddle:
But I wat they had better hae staid at hame;
For Michael o' Winfield he is dead
And Jock o' the Side is prisoner ta'en.
Wi' my fa ding diddle, lal low dow diddle.

For Mangerton house Lady Downie his gane,
Her coats she has kilted up to her knee;
And down the water wi' speed she rins
While tears in spaits fa' fast frae her e'e.

Then up and spoke our gude auld Lord:
What news? what news, sister Downie, to me?
Bad news, bad news, my Lord Mangerton;
Michael is killed and they hae ta'en my son Johnie.

Ne'er fear, sister Downie, quo' Mangerton:
I have yokes of ousen eighty and three;
My barns, my byres, and my faulds a' weil fill'd,
And I'll part wi' them a' ere Johnie shall die.

Three men I'll send to set him free,
A' harneist wi' the best o' steil;
The English louns may hear and drie
The weight o' their braid swords to feel.

Lord Mangerton then orders gave:
Your horses the wrang [way] maun be shod;
Like gentlemen ye mauna seim,
But look like corn caugers ga'en the road.

Your armour gude you mauna shaw,
Nor yet appear like men o' weir;
As country lads be a' array'd,
Wi' branks and brecham on each mare.

Sae now their horses are the wrang way shod,
And Hobbie has mounted his grey sae fine;
Jock's on his lively bay, Wat's on his white horse, behind,
And on they rode for the water of Tyne.

At the Cholerford they all light down
And there, wi' the help of the light o' the moon,
A tree they cut wi' fifteen nogs on each side
To climb up the wa' of Newcastle toun.

But when they cam to Newcastle toun
And were alighted at the wa',
They fand their tree three ells ower laigh,
They fand their stick baith short and sma'.

Then up and spak the Laird's ain Jock:
There 's naithing for 't, the gates we maun force.
But when they cam the gate untill,
A proud porter withstood baith men and horse.

His neck in twa the Armstrangs wrang,
Wi' fute or hand he ne'er play'd pa!
His life and his keys at anes they hae ta'en,
And cast the body ahind the wa'.

Now sune they reach Newcastle jail
And to the prisoner thus they call:
Sleeps thou, wakes thou, Jock o' the Side,
Or art thou weary of thy thrall?

Jock answers thus, wi' dulefu' tone:
Aft, aft I wake, I seldom sleep;
But whae 's this kens my name sae weil
And thus to mese my waes does seik?

Then out and spak the gude Laird's Jock:
Now fear ye na, my billie, quo' he;
For here are the Laird's Jock, the Laird's Wat,
And Hobbie Noble, come to set thee free.

Now haud thy tongue, my gude Laird's Jock,
For ever, alas, this canna be;
For if a' Liddesdale was here the night
The morn 's the day that I maun die.

Full fifteen stane o' Spanish iron
They hae laid a' right sair on me;
Wi' locks and keys I am fast bound
Into this dungeon dark and dreirie.

Fear ye na' that, quo' the Laird's Jock,
A faint heart ne'er wan a fair ladie;
Work thou within, we'll work without,
And I'll be sworn we'll set thee free.

The first strong door that they cam at,
They loosed it without a key;
The next chain'd door that they cam at,
They garr'd it a' to flinders flee.

The prisoner now upon his back
The Laird's Jock has gotten up fu' hie;
And down the stair, him, irons, and a',
Wi' nae sma' speid and joy brings he.

Sae out at the gates they a' are gane,
The prisoner 's set on horseback hie;
And now wi' speid they've ta'en the gate
While ilk ane jokes fu' wantonlie:

O Jock, sae winsomely 's ye ride,
Wi' baith your feet upon ae side;
Sae well ye 're harniest and sae trigg,
In troth ye sit like ony bride!

The night, tho' wat, they did na mind,
But hied them on fu' merrilie,
Until they cam to Cholerford brae
Where the water ran like mountains hie.

But when they cam to Cholerford
There they met with an auld man;
Says, Honest man, will the water ride?
Tell us in haste if that ye can.

I wat weel no, quo' the gude auld man;
I hae lived here threty years and thrie,
And I ne'er yet saw the Tyne sae big
Nor running anes sae like a sea.

Then out and spak the Laird's saft Wat,
The greatest coward in the cumpanie:
Now halt, now halt, we needna try 't;
The day is come we a' maun die!

Puir faint-hearted thief, cried the Laird's ain Jock,
There'll nae man die but him that 's fie;
I'll guide thee a' right safely thro';
Lift ye the pris'ner on ahint me.

Wi' that the water they hae ta'en,
By ane's and twa's they a' swam thro';
Here are we a' safe, quo' the Laird's Jock,
And puir faint Wat, what think ye now?

They scarce the other brae had won
When twenty men they saw pursue;
Frae Newcastle toun they had been sent,
A' English lads baith stout and true.

But when the Land-serjeant the water saw,
It winna ride, my lads, says he;
Then cried aloud: The prisoner take,
But leave the fetters, I pray, to me.

I wat weil no, quo' the Laird's Jock;
I'll keep them a', shoon to my mare they'll be;
My gude bay mare--for I am sure
She has bought them a' right dear frae thee.

Sae now they are on to Liddesdale,
E'en as fast as they could them hie;
The prisoner is brought to 's ain fire-side,
And there o 's airns they mak him free.

Now Jock, my billie, quo' a' the three,
The day is com'd thou was to die;
But thou 's as weil at thy ain ingle side
Now sitting, I think, 'twixt thee and me!