Then Hobbie Noble has dream’d a dream,
In the Foulbogshiel, where that he lay;
He thought his horse was neath him shot,
And he himself got hard away.

The cocks could crow, the day could dawn,
And I wot so even down fell the rain;
If Hobbie had no waken’d at that time,
In the Foulbogshiel he had been tane or slain.

“Get up, get up, my feiries five! 
For I wot here makes a fu’ ill day;
Yet the warst cloak 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 Hobbie could not gae.

“Yet follow me, my feiries five,
And see of me ye keep good ray;
And the worst cloak o’ this companie
I hope shall cross the Waste this day.”

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

Then Hobie he had but a laddies sword;
But he did more than a laddies deed;
In the midst of Conscouthart-Green,
He brake it oer Jersawigham’s head.

Now they have tane brave Hobie Noble,
Wi’ his ain bowstring they band him sae;
And I wat 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 why? 
Whate’er he thought, yet little he said;
He knew the way as well as they.

They hae ta’en him up the Ricker gate;
The wives they cast their windows wide;
And every wife to anither can say,
“That’s the man loos’d Jock o’ the Side!”

“Fye on ye, women! why ca’ ye me man? 
For it’s nae man that I’m used like;
I am 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’ with ae consent,
“Eat, brave Noble, and make gude cheer!

“Confess my lord’s horse, Hobie,” they said,
“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 and born,
He never had ony thing o’ my lord’s,
That either eat him grass or corn.

“Now fare thee weel, sweet Mangerton! 
For I think again I’ll ne’er thee see: 
I wad betray nae lad alive,
For a’ the goud in Christentie.

“And fare thee weel, sweet Liddesdale! 
Baith the hie land and the law;
Keep ye weel frae traitor Mains! 
For goud and gear he’ll sell ye a’.

“Yet wad I rather be ca’d Hobie Noble,
In Carlisle where he suffers for his faut,
Before I’d be ca’d traitor Mains,
That eats and drinks of the meal and maut.”