Then up bespak him coa.r.s.e Ca'field, (I wot and little gude worth was he) "Thirty men is few anew, And a' to ride in our c.u.mpanie."

There was horsing, horsing in haste, And there was marching on the lee; Until they cam to Murraywhate, And they lighted there right speedilie.

"A smith! a smith!" d.i.c.kie he cries, "A smith, a smith, right speedilie, To turn back the caukers of our horses' shoon!

For its unkensome[186] we wad be."

"There lives a smith on the water side, Will shoe my little black mare for me; And I've a crown in my pocket, And every groat of it I wad gie."

"The night is mirk, and its very mirk, And by candle light I canna weel see; The night is mirk, and its very pit mirk, And there will never a nail ca' right for me."

"Shame fa' you and your trade baith, Canna beet[187] a gude fellow by your myster[188]

But leez me on thee, my little black mare, Thou's worth thy weight in gold to me."

There was horsing, horsing in haste, And there was marching upon the lee; Until they cam to Dumfries port, And they lighted there right speedilie.

"There's five of us will hold the horse, And other five will watchmen be: But wha's the man, amang ye a', Will gae to the Tolbooth door wi' me?"

O up then spak him mettled John Hall, (Frae the laigh Tiviotdale was he) "If it should cost my life this very night, I'll gae to the Tolbooth door wi' thee."

"Be of gude cheir, now, Archie, lad!

Be of gude cheir, now, dear billie!

Work thou within, and we without, And the mom thou'se dine at Ca'field wi' me."

O Jockie Hall stepped to the door, And he bended low back his knee; And he made the bolts, the door hang on, Loup frae the wa' right wantonlie.

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 stirred she.

They laid the links out ower her neck, And that was her gold twist to be;[189]

And they cam down thro' Dumfries toun, And wow but they cam speedilie.

The live long night these twelve men rade, And aye till they were right wearie, Until they cam to the Murraywhate, And they lighted there right speedilie.

"A smith! a smith!" then d.i.c.kie he cries; "A smith, a smith, right speedilie, To file the irons frae my dear brither!

For forward, forward we wad be,"

They had na filed a shackle of iron, A shackle of iron but barely thrie, When out and spak young Simon brave, "O dinna ye see what I do see?

"Lo! yonder comes Lieutenant Gordon, Wi' a hundred men in his c.u.mpanie; This night will be our lyke-wake night, The morn the day we a' maun die,"

O there was mounting, mounting in haste, And there was marching upon the lee; Until they cam to Annan water, And it was flowing like the sea.

"My mare is young and very skeigh,[190]

And in o' the weil[191] she will drown me; But ye'll take mine, and I'll take thine, And sune through the water we sall be."

Then up and spak him, coa.r.s.e Ca'field, (I wot and little gude worth was he) "We had better lose are than lose a' the lave; We'll lose the prisoner, we'll gae free."

"Shame fa' you and your lands baith!

Wad ye e'en[192] your lands to your born billy?

But hey! bear up, my bonnie black mare, And yet thro' the water we sall be."

Now they did swim that wan water, And wow but they swam bonilie!

Until they cam to the other side, And they wrang their cloathes right drunkily.

"Come thro', come thro', Lieutenant Gordon!

Come thro' and drink some wine wi' me!

For there is an ale-house here hard by, And it shall not cost thee ae penny."

"Throw me my irons," quo' Lieutenant Gordon; "I wot they cost me dear aneugh."

"The shame a ma," quo' mettled John Ha', "They'll be gude shackles to my pleugh."

"Come thro', come thro', Lieutenant Gordon!

Come thro' and drink some wine wi' me!

Yestreen I was your prisoner, But now this morning am I free."

[Footnote 185: _Billy_--Brother.]

[Footnote 186: _Unkensome_--Unknown.]

[Footnote 187: _Beet_--Abet, aid.]

[Footnote 188: _Mystery_--Trade.--See Shakespeare.]

[Footnote 189: The _Gold Twist_ means the small gilded chains drawn across the chest of a war-horse, as a part of his caparaison.]

[Footnote 190: _Skeigh_--Shy.]

[Footnote 191: _Weil_--Eddy.]

[Footnote 192: _E'en_--Even, put into comparison.]

ARMSTRONG'S GOODNIGHT.

_The followng verses are said to have been composed by one of the_ ARMSTRONGS, _executed for the murder of Sir_ JOHN CARMICHAEL _of Edrom, warden of the middle marches, (See_ p. 165.) _The tune is popular in Scotland; but whether these are the original words, will admit of a doubt_.

This night is my departing night, For here nae langer must I stay; There's neither friend nor foe o' mine, But wishes me away.

What I have done thro' lack of wit, I never, never, can recall; I hope ye're a' my friends as yet; Goodnight and joy be with you all!