Carmichael was our Warden then,
  He caused the country to conveen;
  And the Laird’s Wat, that worthie man,
  Brought in that sirname weil beseen[144]: 

  The Armestranges, that aye hae been
  A hardie house, but not a hail,
  The Elliot’s honours to maintaine,
  Brought down the lave[145] o’ Liddesdale.

  Then Tividale came to wi’ speid;
  The sheriffe brought the Douglas down,
  Wi’ Cranstane, Gladstain, good at need,
  Baith Rewle water, and Hawick town. 
  Beanjeddart bauldly made him boun,
  Wi’ a’ the Trumbills, stronge and stout;
  The Rutherfoords, with grit renown,
  Convoyed the town of Jedbrugh out.

  Of other clans I cannot tell,
  Because our warning was not wide.—­
  Be this our folks hae taen the fell,
  And planted down palliones[146] there to bide. 
  We looked down the other side,
  And saw come breasting ower the brae,
  Wi’ Sir John Forster for their guyde,
  Full fifteen hundred men and mae.

  It grieved him sair, that day, I trow,
  Wi’ Sir George Hearoune of Schipsydehouse;
  Because we were not men enow,
  They counted us not worth a louse. 
  Sir George was gentle, meek, and douse,
  But he was hail and het as fire;
  And yet, for all his cracking crouse[147],
  He rewd the raid o’ the Reidswire.

  To deal with proud men is but pain;
  For either must ye fight or flee,
  Or else no answer make again,
  But play the beast, and let them be. 
  It was na wonder he was hie,
  Had Tindaill, Reedsdaill, at his hand,
  Wi’ Cukdaill, Gladsdaill on the lee,
  And Hebsrime, and Northumberland.

  Yett was our meeting meek enough,
  Begun wi’ merriement and mowes,
  And at the brae, aboon the heugh,
  The clark sate down to call the rowes.[148]
  And some for kyne, and some for ewes,
  Called in of Dandrie, Hob, and Jock—­
  We saw, come marching ower the knows,
  Five hundred Fennicks in a flock.

  With jack and speir, and bows all bent,
  And warlike weapons at their will: 
  Although we were na weel content,
  Yet, be my trouth, we feard no ill. 
  Some gaed to drink, and some stude still,
  And some to cairds and dice them sped;
  Till on ane Farnstein they fyled a bill,
  And he was fugitive and fled.

  Carmichael bade them speik out plainlie,
  And cloke no cause for ill nor good;
  The other, answering him as vainlie,
  Began to reckon kin and blood: 
  He raise, and raxed[149] him where he stood,
  And bade him match him with his marrows,
  Then Tindaill heard them reasun rude,
  And they loot off a flight of arrows.

  Then was there nought but bow and speir,
  And every man pulled out a brand;
  “A Schaftan and a Fenwick” thare: 
  Gude Symington was slain frae hand. 
  The Scotsmen cried on other to stand,
  Frae time they saw John Robson slain—­
  What should they cry? the king’s command
  Could cause no cowards turn again.