But yet we will not slander them all, For there is of them good enough; It is a sore consumed tree That on it bears not one fresh bough.
Lord God! is not this a pitiful case, That men dare not drive their goods to t’ fell, But limmer thieves drives them away, That fears neither heaven nor hell.
Lord, send us peace into the realm, That every man may live on his own! I trust to God, if it be his will, That Weardale-men may never be overthrown.
For great troubles they’ve had in hand, With borderers pricking hither and thither, But the greatest fray that e’er they had, Was with the men of Thirlwa’ ’nd Willie-haver.
They gather’d together so royally, The stoutest men and the best in gear; And he that rade not on a horse, I wat he rade on a weil-fed mear.
So in the morning before they came out, So well I wot they broke their fast, In the [forenoon they came] unto a bye fell, Where some of them did eat their last.
When they had eaten aye and done, They say’d, some captains here needs must be: Then they choos’d forth Harry Corbyl, And ‘Symon Fell,’ and Martin Ridley.
Then o’er the moss, where as they came, With many a brank and whew, One of them would to another say, I think this day we are men enew.
For Weardale-men are a journey ta’en, They are so far out o’er yon fell, That some ofe them’s with the two earls[77] And others fast in Barnard-castell.
There we shall get gear enough, For there is nane but women at hame; The sorrowful fend that they can make, Is loudly cries as they were slain.
Then in at Rookhope-head they came, And there they thought tul a’ had their prey; But they were ’spy’d coming over the Dry-rig, Soon upon Saint Nicholas’ Day.
Then in at Rookhope-head they came, They ran the forest but a mile; They gather’d together in four hours Six hundred sheep within a while.
And horses I trow they gat, But either ane or twa, And they gat them all but ane That belanged to great Rowley.
That Rowley was the first man that did them spy, With that he rais’d a mighty cry, The cry it came down Rookhope-burn, And spread through Weardale hasteyly.
Then word came to the bailiff’s house At the East-gate, where he did dwell, He had walk’d out to the Smale-burns, Which stands above the Hanging-well.