But when the bailiff was gathered, And all his company, They were number’d to never a man, But forty under fifty. The thieves was number’d a hundred men, I wat they were not of the worst, That could be choosed out of Thirlwa’ ’nd Willie-haver, I trow they were the very first. But all that was in Rookhope-head, And all that was i’ Nuketon-cleugh, Where Weardale-men o’ertook the thieves, And there they gave them fighting enough. So sore they made them fain to flee, As many was a’ out of land, And for tul have been at home again, They would have been in iron bands: And for the space of long seven years, As sore they mighten a’ had their lives; But there was never one of them That ever thought to have seen their wives. About the time the fray began, I trow it lasted but an hour, Till many a man lay weaponless, And was sore wounded in that stour. Also before that hour was done, Four of the thieves were slain, Besides all those that wounded were, And eleven prisoners there was ta’en. George Carrick and his brother Edie, Them two, I wot, they were both slain; Harry Corbyl, and Lennie Carrick, Bore them company in their pain. One of our Weardale-men was slain, Rowland Emerson his name hight; I trust to God his soul is well, Because he fought unto the right. But thus they said, We’ll not depart While we have one:--Speed back again! And when they came amongst the dead men, There they found George Carrick slain. And when they found George Carrick slain, I wot it went well near their heart; Lord let them never make a better end, That comes to play them sicken a part. I trust in God no more they shal, Except it be one for a great chance; For God will punish all those With a great heavy pestilence. Thir limmer thieves they have good hearts, They never think to be o’erthrown, Three banners against Weardale-men they bare, As if the world had been all their own. Thir Weardale-men they have good hearts, They are as stif as any tree, For, if they’d every one been slain, Never a foot back man would flee. And such a storm amongst them fell, As I think you never heard the like; For he that bears his head so high, He oft-times falls into the dyke. And now I do entreat you all, As many as are present here, To pray for singer of this song, For he sings to make blithe your cheer. [76] The name of a valley in the north part of the parish of Stanhope, in Weardale. [77] Thomas Percy, earl of Northumberland; and Charles Nevil, earl of Westmorland.--November, 1569. THE SEDGFIELD FROLIC. Come all the gallant brave wenches, That love strong liquor so well, And use to fuddle your noses, Come, listen to what I shall tell: Your praises abroad I will thunder, ’Tis pity you should go free, And the wanton lasses of Sedgfield Are roaring company.