“Full fifteen stane o’ Spanish iron
  They hae laid a’ right sair or me;
  Wi’ locks and keys I am fast bound
  Into this dungeon dark and dreirie!”

  “Fear ye nae that,” quo’ the Laird’s Jock;
  “A faint heart ne’er won 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 gar’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.

  “Now Jock, my man,” quo Hobbie Noble,
  “Some o’ his weight ye may lay on me.” 
  “I wat weel no,” quo’ the Laird’s ain Jock;
  “I count him lighter than a flee.”

  Sae out at the gates they a’ are gane,
  The prisoner’s set on horseback hie;
  And now wi’ speed they’re 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 weel ye’re harnessed, and sae trig,
  In troth ye sit like ony bride!”

  The night, tho’ wat, they didna mind,
  But hied them on fu’ merrilie
  Until they cam’ to Cholerford brae,
  Where the water ran baith deep and hie.

  But when they came 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 thirty years and three,
  And I ne’er yet saw the Tyne sae big,
  Nor running anes sae like a sea.”

  Then out and spake the Laird’s Saft Wat,
  The greatest coward in the companie;
  “Now halt, now halt, we needna try’t,
  The day is come we a’ maun dee.”

  “Puir faint-hearted thief!” cried the Laird’s ain Jock,
  “There’ll nae man die but him that’s fey;
  I’ll guide ye a’ right safely thro’,
  Lift ye the prisoner on ahint me.”

  Wi’ that the water they hae ta’en;
  By anes and twas they a’ swam thro’;
  “Here we are 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 weel 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 his ain fireside,
  And there o’ his airns they mak’ him free.