“There is the jack was on his back;
This twa-handed sword hang laigh by his
thie,
And there’s the steil cap was on
his head;
I brought a’ these tokens to let
thee see.”
“If that be true thou to me tells,
(And I think thou dares na tell a lie,)
I’ll gie thee fifteen punds for
the horse,
Weil tald on thy cloak lap shall be.
“I’ll gie thee are o’
my best milk ky,
To maintain thy wife and children thrie;
And that may be as gude, I think,
As ony twa o’ thine wad be.”
“The shame speed the liars, my lord!”
quo’ Dickie;
“Trow ye aye to make a fule o’
me?
I’ll either hae twenty punds for
the gude horse,
Or he’s gae to Mortan fair wi’
me.”
He’s gien him twenty punds for the
gude horse,
A’ in goud and gude monie;
He’s gien him ane o’ his best
milk ky,
To maintain his wife and children thrie.
Then Dickie’s come down thro’
Carlisle toun,
E’en as fast as he could drie;
The first o’ men that he met wi’
Was my lord’s brother, bailiff Glozenburrie.
“Weil be ye met, my gude Ralph Scroope!”
“Welcome, my brother’s fule!”
quo’ he:
“Where didst thou get fair Johnie
Armstrong’s horse?”
“Where did I get him? but steal
him,” quo’ he.
“But wilt thou sell me the bonny
horse?
And, billie, wilt thou sell him to me?”
quo’ he:
“Aye; if thoul’t tell me the
monie on my cloak lap:
“For there’s never ae penny
I’ll trust thee.”
“I’ll gie thee ten punds for
the gude horse,
Weil tald on thy cloak lap they shall
be;
And I’ll gie thee ane o’ the
best milk ky,
To maintain thy wife and children thrie.”
“The shame speid the liars, my lord!”
quo’ Dickie;
“Trow ye ay to make a fule o’
me!
I’ll either hae twenty punds for
the gude horse,
Or he’s gae to Mortan fair wi’
me.”
He’s gien him twenty punds for the
gude horse,
Baith in goud and gude monie;
He’s gien him ane o’ his best
milk ky,
To maintain his wife and children thrie.
Then Dickie lap a loup fu’ hie,
And I wat a loud laugh laughed he—
“I wish the neck o’ the third
horse were broken,
If ony of the twa were better than he!”
Then Dickie’s come hame to his wife
again;
Judge ye how the poor fule had sped!
He has gien her twa score English punds,
For the thrie auld coverlets ta’en
aff her bed.
“And tak thee these twa as gude
ky,
I trow, as a’ thy thrie might be;
And yet here is a white-footed nagie,
I trow he’ll carry baith thee and
me.
“But I may nae langer in Cumberland
bide;
The Armstrongs they would hang me hie.”
So Dickie’s ta’en leave at
lord and master,
And at Burgh under Stanmuir there dwells
he.
[Footnote 173: Gie him his batts—Dismiss him with a beating.]