‘Set on them, lads!’ quo’ Willie than; ‘Fye, lads, set on them cruellie! For ere they win to the Ritterford, Mony a toom[1232] saddle there sall be!’ XXXIV Then till ’t[1233] they gaed wi’ heart and hand, The blows fell thick as bickering hail; And mony a horse ran masterless, And mony a comely cheek was pale. XXXV But Willie was stricken ower the head, And thro’ the knapscap[1234] the sword has gane; And Harden grat[1235] for very rage, Whan Willie on the grund lay slane. XXXVI But he’s ta’en aff his gude steel cap, And thrice he’s waved it in the air-- The Dinlay snaw was ne’er mair white Nor the lyart[1236] locks of Harden’s hair. XXXVII ‘Revenge! revenge!’ auld Wat ’gan cry; ‘Fye, lads, lay on them cruellie! We’ll ne’er see Tiviot-side again, Or Willie’s death revenged sall be.’ XXXVIII O mony a horse ran masterless, The splinter’d lances flew on hie; But or they wan to the Kershope ford, The Scotts had gotten the victory. XXXIX John o’ Brigham there was slane, And John o’ Barlow, as I heard say; And thirty mae o’ the Captain’s men Lay bleeding on the grund that day. XL The Captain was run through the thick of the thigh, And broken was his right leg-bane; If he had lived this hundred years, He had never been loved by woman again. XLI ‘Hae back the kye!’ the Captain said; ‘Dear kye, I trow, to some they be! For gin I suld live a hundred years, There will ne’er fair lady smile on me.’ XLII Then word is gane to the Captain’s bride, Even in the bower where that she lay, That her lord was prisoner in enemy’s land, Since into Tividale he had led the way. XLIII ‘I wad lourd[1237] have had a winding-sheet, And helped to put it ower his head, Ere he had been disgraced by the Border Scot, Whan he ower Liddel his men did lead!’ XLIV There was a wild gallant amang us a’, His name was Watty wi’ the Wudspurs[1238], Cried--‘On for his house in Stanegirthside, If ony man will ride with us!’ XLV When they cam to the Stanegirthside, They dang wi’ trees, and burst the door; They loosed out a’ the Captain’s kye, And set them forth our lads before. XLVI There was an auld wyfe ayont the fire, A wee bit o’ the Captain’s kin-- ‘Whae dar loose out the Captain’s kye, Or answer to him and his men?’-- XLVII ‘It’s I, Watty Wudspurs, loose the kye, I winna layne my name frae thee! And I will loose out the Captain’s kye, In scorn of a’ his men and he.’ XLVIII Whan they cam to the fair Dodhead, They were a wellcum sight to see! For instead of his ain ten milk kye, Jamie Telfer has gotten thirty and three. XLIX