“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.]