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fell about the Martinmas tyde, Whan our Border steeds get corn and hay, The Captain of Bewcastle hath bound him to ryde, And he's ower to Tividale to drive a prey. The first ae guide that they met wi, It was high up in Hardhaughswire; The second guide that they met wi, It was laigh down in Borthwick water. 'What tidings, what tidings, my trusty guide?' 'Nae tidings, nae tidings, I hae to thee; But gin ye'll gae to the Fair Dodhead, Mony a cow's cauf I'll let thee see.' And when they cam to the Fair Dodhead, Right hastily they clam the peel; They loosed the kye out, ane and a', And ranshakled the house right weel. Now Jamie Telfer's heart was sair, The tear aye rowing in his ee; He pled wi the Captain to hae his gear, Or else revenged he wad be. The Captain turned him round and leugh; Said, Man, there's naething in thy house But ae auld sword without a sheath, That hardly now wad fell a mouse. The sun was na up, but the moon was down, It was the gryming of a new-fa'n snaw; Jamie Telfer has run ten myles a-foot, Between the Dodhead and the Stobs's Ha. And when he cam to the fair tower-yate, He shouted loud, and cried weel hie, Till out bespak auld Gibby Elliot, 'Whae's this that brings the fray to me?' 'It's I, Jamie Telfer o the Fair Dodhead, And a harried man I think I be; There's naething left at the Fair Dodhead But a waefu wife and bairnies three.' 'Gae seek your succour at Branksome Ha, For succour ye'se get nane frae me; Gae seek your succour where ye paid blackmail, For, man, ye neer paid money to me.' Jamie has turned him round about, I wat the tear blinded his ee: 'I'll neer pay mail to Elliot again, And the Fair Dodhead I'll never see. 'My hounds may a' rin masterless, My hawks may fly frae tree to tree, My lord may grip my vassal-lands, For there again maun I never be!' He has turned him to the Tiviot-side, Een as fast as he could drie, Till he cam to the Coultart Cleugh, And there he shouted baith loud and hie. Then up bespak him auld Jock Grieve: 'Whae's this that brings the fray to me?' 'It's I, Jamie Telfer o the Fair Dodhead, A harried man I trew I be. 'There's naething left in the Fair Dodhead But a greeting wife and bairnies three, And sax poor ca's stand in the sta, A' routing loud for their minnie.' 'Alack a wae!' quo auld Jock Grieve, 'Alack, my heart is sair for thee! For I was married on the elder sister, And you on the youngest of a' the three.' Then he has taen out a bonny black, Was right weel fed wi corn and hay, And he's set Jamie Telfer on his back, To the Catslockhill to tak the fray. And whan he cam to the Catslockhill, He shouted loud and cried weel hie, Till out and spak him William's Wat, 'O whae's this brings the fray to me?' 'It's I, Jamie Telfer o the Fair Dodhead, A harried man I think I be; The Captain o Bewcastle has driven my gear; For God's sake, rise and succour me!' 'Alas for wae!' quo William's Wat, 'Alack, for thee my heart is sair! I never cam bye the Fair Dodhead That ever I fand thy basket bare.' He's set his twa sons on coal-black steeds, Himsel upon a freckled gray, And they are on wi Jamie Telfer, To Branksome Ha to tak the fray. And when they cam to Branksome Ha, They shouted a' baith loud and hie, Till up and spak him auld Buccleuch, Said, Whae's this brings the fray to me? 'It's I, Jamie Telfer o the Fair Dodhead, And a harried man I think I be; There's nought left in the Fair Dodhead But a greeting wife and bairnies three.' 'Alack for wae!' quo the gude auld lord, 'And ever my heart is wae for thee! But fye, gar cry on Willie, my son, And see that he cum to me speedilie. 'Gar warn the water, braid and wide! Gar warn it sune and hastilie! They that winna ride for Telfer's dye, Let them never look in the face o me! 'Warn Wat o Harden and his sons, Wi them will Borthwick water ride; Warn Gaudilands, and Allanhaugh, And Gilmanscleugh, and Commonside. 'Ride by the gate at Priesthaughswire, And warn the Currors o the Lee; As ye cum down the Hermitage Slack, Warn doughty Willie o Gorrinberry.' The Scotts they rade, the Scotts they ran, Sae starkly and sae steadilie, And aye the ower-word o the thrang Was, Rise for Branksome readilie! The gear was driven the Frostylee up, Frae the Frostylee unto the plain, Whan Willie has lookd his men before, And saw the kye right fast driving.