There are two or more versions of the foregoing: one in Ritson's Collection; and one communicated by Burns to Johnson's Museum. The ballad of Hobbie Noble relates to a hero of the same stamp, who suffered about the same period, at the same place, for a similar love for English oxen and sheep. Hobbie was an Englishman; who, finding less difference in the laws of "mine and thine" on the Scotch side of the border, and more sympathy with such loose notions of property as he possessed, established himself among the Scotch, and helped them to ravage the country to Carlisle southward, whenever opportunity offered. The Scotch, however, proved false to him. The Armstrongs, amongst whom he was residing, were bribed by the English to decoy him over the border upon pretence of a raid or foray; where he was delivered up to a party from Carlisle castle, that had long been on the look-out for him. By these he was taken to Carlisle, and hanged on Hairibee in less than twenty-four hours afterwards. HOBBIE NOBLE. Foul fa' the breast first treason bred in! That Liddesdale may safely say: For in it there was baith meat and drink, And corn unto our geldings gay. And we were a' stout-hearted men, As England she might often say; But now we may turn our backs and flee, Since brave Noble is sold away. Now Hobbie was an Englishman, And born in Bewcastle dale; But his misdeeds they were so great, They banished him to Liddesdale. At Kershope foot the tryst was set, Kershope of the lilye lee; And there was traitor Sim o' the Mains, And with him a private companie. Then Hobbie has graithed his body fair, Baith wi' the iron and wi' the steil; And he has ta'en out his fringed gray, And there brave Hobbie he rade him weel. Then Hobbie is down the water gane, E'en as fast as he could hie! Tho' a' should ha'e bursten and broken their hearts, Frae that riding tryst he wad na be. "Weel be ye met, my feres five! And now, what is your will wi' me?" Then they cried a' wi' ae consent, Thou'rt welcome here, brave Noble, to me. "Wilt thou with us into England ride, And thy safe warrand we will be? If we get a horse worth a hundred pound, Upon his back thou sune sall be." "I dare not by day into England ride, The land-serjeant has me at feid; And I know not what evil may betide, For Peter of Whitfield, his brother is dead. "And Anton Shiel he loves not me, For I gat twa drifts o' his sheep; The great Earl of Whitfield loves me not, For nae gear frae me he e'er could keep. "But will ye stay till the day gae down, Until the night come o'er the grund, And I'll be a guide worth ony twa That may in Liddesdale be found?