Therefore the Gordons gave nae grace,
Because they crav'd it not.

Like harts, up howes and hills they ran,
Whair horsemen might not win :
"Retire again," quoth Huntlie then,
"To whair we did begin.
For here is mony a carved skin,
And mony a bludy beard,
For ony help, wi' little din,
Sall rot abune the eard."

When they cam' to the hill again,
They set doun on their knees;
Syne thanked God that they had slain
Sae mony enemies.

They rose before Argyle his eyes,
Made Captain Ker a knight,
Syne stude amang the dead bodies,
Till they were out o' sight.

This deed sae doughtilie was done,
As I heard true men tell,
Upon a Thursday afternoon,
Sanct Francis' eve befell.

Gude Auchindoun was slain himsel',

Wi' seven mair in batell,

Sae was the laird of Lochenzell,*

Great pitie was to tell.

* Archibald and James Campbell of Lochnell, the nearest

heirs of Argyle, were killed in this battle.

JOCK O' THE SIDE.

THIS Border ballad first appeared in the "Hawick Poetical Museum," 1784. It bears some resemblance to "Kinmont Willie," both in narrative and style; but is certainly more authentic, for it is well known that the traditionary copy of the other ballad was much improved by passing through the hands of Sir Walter Scott.

The reader is referred to the note prefixed to “Dick o' the Cow," for an explanation of the Border sir-names. Jock o' the Side was one of the marauding Armstrongs, nephew to the Laird of Mangerton; and seems to have attained a reputation even worse than that of his fellows. Sir Richard Maitland, in his poem against the Thieves of Liddesdale, honours him with special mention :—

"He is weel kend, Johne of the Syde,

A greater thief did never ryde;

He never tires,

For to break byres,

O'er muir and mires,

Ower gude ane guide."

He was rescued on this occasion by his two cousins, John and Walter Armstrong, sons of the Laird of Mangerton (who are respectively called the Laird's Jock and the Laird's Wat), and by one Hobbie or Halbert Noble, a fugitive English outlaw, whose fate is recorded in the ballad which bears his name, and which I place next in succession.

OW Liddesdale has ridden a raid,

NOW

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.

For Mangerton house Lady Downie has 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 laird"What news, what news, sister Downie, to me?" 66 Bad news, bad news, for Michael is kill'd, And they hae taken my son Johnie."

"Ne'er fear, sister Downie," quo' Mangerton, "I have yokes of owsen, twenty and three ; My barns, my byres, and my faulds a' weel fill'd, I'll part wi' them a' ere Johnie shall die.

"Three men I'll send to set him free, A' harness'd wi' the best o' steel;

The English louns may hear, and drie

The weight o' their braid-swords to feel.

"The Laird's Jock ane, the Laird's Wat twa,
O Hobbie Noble, thou ane maun be!
Thy coat is blue, thou hast been true,
Since England banish'd thee to me."

* Torrents.

VOL. I.

R

Now Hobbie was an English man,

In Bewcastle dale was bred and born: But his misdeeds they were sae great, They banish'd him ne'er to return.

Laird Mangerton them orders gave,
"Your horses the wrang way maun be shod;
Like gentlemen ye maunna seem,

But look like corn-cadgers ga'en the road.

"Your armour gude ye maunna show, Nor yet appear like men o' weir;

As country lads be a' array'd,

Wi' branks and brecham on each mare."

Sae their horses are the wrang way shod,

And Hobbie has mounted his grey sae fine; Jock 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 naething 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 wrung;
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 ahint 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 weel,
And thus to ease my wae does seek?"

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 were 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 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."