  A Durham Border Song, composed in 1569. Rookhope If the false thieves wad let it be; But away they steal our goods apace, And ever an ill death may they die! And so is the man of Thirlwa’ ’nd Willie-haver, And all their companies thereabout, That is minded to do mischief hither, And at their stealing stands not out. 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 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. His wife was wae when she hear’d tell, So well she wist her husband wanted gear, She gar’d saddle him his horse in haste, And neither forgot sword, jack, nor spear. The bailiff got wit before his gear came, That such news was in the land; He was sore troubled in his heart, That on no earth that he could stand. His brother was hurt three days before, With limmer thieves that did him prick; Nineteen bloody wounds lay him upon; What ferly was’t that he lay sick? But yet the bailiff shrinked nought, But fast after them he did hie; And so did all his neighbours near, That went to bear him company. 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. |
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