XXVIII
HUGHIE THE GRAEME
Good Lord Scroope to the hills is gane,
Hunting of the fallow deer;
And he has grippit Hughie the Graeme
For stealing of the Bishop's mare.
'Now, good Lord Scroope, this may not be!
Here hangs a broadsword by my side;
And if that thou canst conquer me,
The matter it may soon be tried.'
'I ne'er was afraid of a traitor thief;
Although thy name be Hughie the Graeme,
I'll make thee repent thee of thy deeds,
If God but grant me life and time.'
But as they were dealing their blows so free,
And both so bloody at the time,
Over the moss came ten yeomen so tall,
All for to take bold Hughie the Graeme.
O then they grippit Hughie the Graeme,
And brought him up through Carlisle town:
The lads and lasses stood on the walls,
Crying, 'Hughie the Graeme, thou'se ne'er gae down!'
'O loose my right hand free,' he says,
'And gie me my sword o' the metal sae fine,
He's no in Carlisle town this day
Daur tell the tale to Hughie the Graeme.'
Up then and spake the brave Whitefoord,
As he sat by the Bishop's knee,
'Twenty white owsen, my gude lord,
If ye'll grant Hughie the Graeme to me.'
'O haud your tongue,' the Bishop says,
'And wi' your pleading let me be;
For tho' ten Grahams were in his coat,
They suld be hangit a' for me.
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