GRAEME AND BEWICK.

  Gude lord Graeme is to Carlisle gane;
   Sir Robert Bewick there met he;
  And arm in arm to the wine they did go,
   And they drank till they were baith merrie.

  Gude lord Graeme has ta’en up the cup,
   “Sir Robert Bewick, and here’s to thee! 
  “And here’s to our twae sons at hame! 
   “For they like us best in our ain countrie.”

“O were your son a lad like mine,
“And learn’d some books that he could read,
“They might hae been twae brethren bauld,
“And they might hae bragged the border side.”

“But your son’s a lad, and he is but bad,
“And billie to my son he canna be;

* * * * *

“Ye sent him to the schools, and he wadna learn;
“Ye bought him books, and he wadna read.” 
“But my blessing shall he never earn,
“Till I see how his arm can defend his head.”

Gude lord Graeme has a reckoning call’d,
A reckoning then called he;
And he paid a crown, and it went roun’;
It was all for the gude wine and free.[A]

  And he has to the stable gaen,
   Where there stude thirty steeds and three;
  He’s ta’en his ain horse amang them a’,
   And hame he’ rade sae manfullie.

  “Wellcome, my auld father!” said Christie Graeme,
   “But where sae lang frae hame were ye?”
  “It’s I hae been at Carlisle town,
   “And a baffled man by thee I be.

  “I hae been at Carlisle town,
   “Where Sir Robert Bewick he met me;
  “He says ye’re a lad, and ye are but bad,
   “And billie to his son ye canna be.

  “I sent ye to the schools, and ye wadna learn;
   “I bought ye books, and ye wadna read;
  “Therefore, my blessing ye shall never earn,
   “Till I see with Bewick thou save thy head.”

  “Now, God forbid, my auld father,
   “That ever sic a thing suld be! 
  “Billie Bewick was my master, and I was his scholar,
   “And aye sae weel as he learned me.”

  “O hald thy tongue, thou limmer lown,
   “And of thy talking let me be! 
  “If thou does na end me this quarrel soon,
   “There is my glove I’ll fight wi’ thee.”

  Then Christie Graeme he stooped low
   Unto the ground, you shall understand;—­
  “O father, put on your glove again,
   “The wind has blown it from your hand.”

  “What’s that thou says, thou limmer loun? 
   “How dares thou stand to speak to me? 
  “If thou do not end this quarrel soon,
   “There’s my right hand thou shalt fight with me.”

  Then Christie Graeme’s to his chamber gane,
   To consider weel what then should be;
  Whether he suld fight with his auld father
   Or with his billie Bewick, he.

  “If I suld kill my billie dear,
   “God’s blessing I sall never win;
  “But if I strike at my auld father,
   “I think ’twald be a mortal sin.