Traditional, arr. Calhoun, recorded on Telfer's Cows.
Graeme's leap releases the berserk energy of his rage, and the rest of the story falls into place. It stems from an event of around 1560. 4 generations of Scroopes were wardens of Carlisle, in Northwest England.
Good Lord Scroope's to the hunting gone,
And he has ridden o'er moss and moor;
All for to take bold Hughie Grime,
For stealing the Bishop of Carlisle's mare.
"Turn, turn, thou traitor thief!
Turn and yield thyself unto me,
For thou hast stolen the Lord Bishop's mare,
And now thou thinkest away to flee."
"My good Lord Scroope, good day to thee;
Here hangs a broadsword by my side,
And if thou canst but conquer me,
The matter it may soon be tried."
"I'm not afraid of a traitor thief,
Although thy name be Hughie Grime;
I'll make thee repent thee of thy deeds
If God but grant me life and time."
But as they dealt their blows so free,
And both so bloody at that time;
Over the moss came ten yeomen so tall,
And they have gripped bold Hughie Grime.
And they have bound up Hughie Grime
And led him in through Carlisle town;
The lads and lasses stood on the walls
Crying, "Hughie Graeme, ye'll never go down."
And they have chosen a jury of men,
The best that were in Carlisle town;
And twelve of them did speak as one,
Saying, "Hughie Grime, ye must go down."
But up and spoke the good Lord Boles,
Was sitting at the judge's knee;
"Twenty white oxen, my good lord,
If ye'll let Hughie Grime go free."
"Oh no, oh no, the Bishop said,
And ye'll let all this pleading be;
Though there were but three Grimes of the name,
He should be hanged high for me."
Then up and spoke the good Lady Ward,
As she sat on the bench so high;
"A peck of white pennies, my good lord judge,
If ye'll let Hughie Grime go free.
And if it be not full enough,
I'll stroke it up with my silver fan;
And if it be not full enough,
I'll heap it up with my own hand."
"Oh no, oh no, my good Lady Ward,
And ye'll let all thy speeches be;
Though there were but one Grime of the name,
It's for my honor he would die."
Hughie Grime's condemned to die,
Though of his friends there was no lack;
Then he jumped fourteen feet and three
With his hands bound fast behind his back.
And he looked over his left shoulder,
It was to see what he could see;
And there he spied his old mother,
Weeping and wailing, "Oh, woe is me."
"Peace, peace, now mother dear,
And see that ye don't weep for me;
Thy weeping's sorer on my heart
Than all that they can do to me."
Then he looked over his right shoulder,
It was to see what he might see;
And there he spied his old father,
Come tearing his hair most piteously.
"Peace, peace now, father dear,
And see that ye don't mourn for me;
Though they may ravish me of my life,
They cannot banish me from heaven high.
"Remember me to Maggie my wife,
The next time ye cross oe'r the moor;
T'was she bereaved me of my life,
And with the Bishop, she played the whore.
"I leave my brother John the sword,
That's pointed with the metal clear;
And bid him come at 8 of the clock
And see me pay for the Bishop's mare."