FOOTNOTES:

FOOTNOTES:[1082]maugre = despite.[1083]let = hinder.[1084]meinye = company.[1085]bicker’d = attacked, skirmished.[1086]bent = rough grass.[1087]wild = game, deer.[1088]shear = several.[1089]grevès = groves.[1090]glent = glanced, darted.[1091]mort = death of the deer.[1092]quarry = dead game.[1093]brittling = cutting up.[1094]boun’s = boundaries.[1095]gleed = live coal.[1096]bairn = fighting man.[1097]on a party = apart.[1098]fytte = division of a ballad.[1099]wouche = evil.[1100]tree = timber.[1101]doughty = doughty man.[1102]basnets = steel caps.[1103]manoplie = long gauntlet.[1104]stern = stern men, warriors.[1105]freyke = bold fellow.[1106]swapt = smote.[1107]swat = sweated.[1108]sprent = spurted.[1109]hight = promise.[1110]wane = host, multitude.[1111]dight = done, doomed.[1112]stint = stayed.[1113]blint = stopped.[1114]dint = stroke, lunge.[1115]halèd = pulled.[1116]stoure = press of battle.[1117]dree = endure.[1118]lee = fair, bright.[1119]hendè = courteous, gentle.[1120]makes = mates.[1121]carp = talk.[1122]weal = clench.[1123]brook = retain.[1124]Glendale = one of the six ‘wards’ of Northumberland. Homildon was here.[1125]spurn = fray(?).[1126]reane = gutter.[1127]balès = woes.[1128]bete = better, relieve.

[1082]maugre = despite.

[1083]let = hinder.

[1084]meinye = company.

[1085]bicker’d = attacked, skirmished.

[1086]bent = rough grass.

[1087]wild = game, deer.

[1088]shear = several.

[1089]grevès = groves.

[1090]glent = glanced, darted.

[1091]mort = death of the deer.

[1092]quarry = dead game.

[1093]brittling = cutting up.

[1094]boun’s = boundaries.

[1095]gleed = live coal.

[1096]bairn = fighting man.

[1097]on a party = apart.

[1098]fytte = division of a ballad.

[1099]wouche = evil.

[1100]tree = timber.

[1101]doughty = doughty man.

[1102]basnets = steel caps.

[1103]manoplie = long gauntlet.

[1104]stern = stern men, warriors.

[1105]freyke = bold fellow.

[1106]swapt = smote.

[1107]swat = sweated.

[1108]sprent = spurted.

[1109]hight = promise.

[1110]wane = host, multitude.

[1111]dight = done, doomed.

[1112]stint = stayed.

[1113]blint = stopped.

[1114]dint = stroke, lunge.

[1115]halèd = pulled.

[1116]stoure = press of battle.

[1117]dree = endure.

[1118]lee = fair, bright.

[1119]hendè = courteous, gentle.

[1120]makes = mates.

[1121]carp = talk.

[1122]weal = clench.

[1123]brook = retain.

[1124]Glendale = one of the six ‘wards’ of Northumberland. Homildon was here.

[1125]spurn = fray(?).

[1126]reane = gutter.

[1127]balès = woes.

[1128]bete = better, relieve.

INow list and lithe, you gentlemen,And I’st tell you the veretye,How they have dealt with a banish’d man,Driven out of his owne countrye.IIWhen as he came on Scottish ground,As woe and wonder be them amonge!Full much was there traitoryeThey wrought the Erle of Northumberland.IIIWhen they were at the supper set,Before many goodly gentlemen,They fell a flouting and mocking both,And said to the Erle of Northumberland:IV‘What makes you be soe sad, my lord,And in your mind soe sorrowfullye?In the north to-morrow there is a shooting,And thither thou’st goe, my Lord Percye.V‘The buttes are sett, and the shooting is made,And there is like to be great royaltye,And I am sworne into my bill[1129]Thither to bring my Lord Percye.’VI‘I’le give thee my hand, Douglas,’ he says,‘And by the faith in my bodye,If that thou wilt ryde to the worldis end,Then I’le ryde in thy companye.’VIIAnd then bespake the good ladye,Mary a Douglas was her name:‘You shall byde here, good English lord;My brother is a traitorous man.VIII‘He is a traitor stout and stronge,As I’st tell you the veretye;For he hath ta’en ’liverance of the Erle,And into England he will ‘liver thee.’—IX‘Now hold thy tongue, thou goodly ladye,Now all this talking let a-bee;For all the gold that’s in Lough Leven,William wo’ld not ’liver mee.X‘It wo’ld breake truce betweene England and Scottland,And freinds againe they wo’ld never bee,If he sho’ld ‘liver a banisht erle,Was driven out of his owne countrye.’—XI‘Hold your tounge, my lord,’ she sayes,‘There is much falsehood them amonge;Soone they will part them freinds againe,When you are dead, then they are done.XII‘If you will give me any trust, my lord,I’le tell you how you best may bee;You’st let my brother ryde his wayes,And tell those English lords, trulye,XIII‘How that you cannot with them ryde,Because you are in an isle of the sea;Then, ere my brother come againe,To Edenborrow castle I’le carry thee.XIV‘I’le ’liver you unto the Lord Hume,And you know a trew Scothe lord is hee,For he hath lost both land and goodsIn ayding of your good bodye.’—XV‘Marry, I am woe, woman,’ he sayes,‘That any friend fares worse for me;For where one saith it is a true tale,Then two will say it is a lee.XVI‘When that I was at home in my realme,Amonge my tennants all trulye,In my time of losse, wherin my need stoode,They came to ayd me honestlye.XVII‘Therefore I left a many a child fatherlese,And many a widdow to looke wanne;Therefore do thou blame nothing, ladye,But the woeffull warres which I began.’—XVIII‘If you will give me noe trust, my lord,Nor noe credence you will give mee,An you’le come hither to my right hand,Indeed, my lord, I’le let you see,’—XIXSays, ‘I never loved noe witchcraft,Nor never dealt with treacherye,But evermore held the hye way;Alas, that may be seene by mee!’—XX‘If you will not come your selfe, my lord,You’le lett your chamberlaine goe with me,Three words that I may to him speake,And soone he shall come againe to thee.’XXIWhen James Swynard came that lady before,She let him see thro’ the weme[1130]of her ringHow many there was of English lordsTo wayte[1131]there for his master and him.XXII‘But who beene yonder, my good ladye,That walkes soe royallye on yond greene?’—‘Yond is Lord Hunsden, Jamye,’ she sayd,‘Alas, he’le doe you both tree and teene[1132]!’—XXIII‘And who beene yonder, thou gay ladye,That walkes soe royallye him beside?’—‘Yond’s Sir William Drurye, Jamye,’ she sayd,‘And a keene captain he is, and tryde.’—XXIV‘How many miles is’t, thou good ladye,Betwixt yond English lord and mee?’—‘Marry, thrice fifty mile, Jamye,’ she sayd,‘And even to sayle and by the sea.XXV‘I never was on English ground,Nor never see it with mine eye,But as my wit and wisedome serves,And as the booke it telleth mee.XXVI‘My mother, she was a witch woman,And part of it she learnèd mee;She wo’ld let me see out of Lough LevenWhat they dyd in London citye.’—XXVII‘But who is yond, thou good ladye,Comes yonder with an osterne[1133]face?’‘Yond’s Sir John Forster, Jamye,’ she sayd;‘Alas! he’ll do ye sore disgrace.’XXVIIIHe pulled his hat downe over his eyes,And, Lord, he wept soe tenderlye!He is gone unto his master againe,And even to tell him the veretye.XXIX‘Now hast thou beene with Mary,’ he sayd,‘Even as thy tounge will tell to mee;But if thou trust any woman’s words,Thou must refraine good companye.’XXX‘It is noe words, my lord,’ he sayes;‘Yonder the men she lets me see,How many English lords there isIs wayting there for you and mee.XXXI‘Yonder I see the Lord Hunsden,And he and you is of third degree[1134];A greater enemye, indeed, my Lord,In England never a one have yee.’—XXXII‘And I have beene in Lough LevenThe most part of these yeerès three:Yet had I never noe out-rake[1135],Nor good gamès that I co’ld see.XXXIII‘And I am thus bidden to yonder shootingBy William Douglas all trulye;Therfore speake never a word of thy mouthThat thou thinkès will hinder me.’XXXIVThen he writhe the gold ring of his fingarAnd gave it to that gay ladye;Sayes, ‘That was a legacye left unto meeIn Harley woods where I co’ld bee.’—XXXV‘Then ffarewell hart, and farewell hand,And ffarwell all good companye!That woman shall never beare a sonneShall know soe much of your privitye.’—XXXVI‘Now hold thy tongue, ladye,’ he sayde,‘And make not all this dole for me,For I may well drinke, but I’st never eate,Till ance againe in Lough Leven I bee.’XXXVIIHe tooke his boate at the Lough Leven,For to sayle now over the sea,And he hath cast up a silver wand,Says, ‘Fare thou well, my good ladye!’The ladye looked owre her left sholder;In a dead swoone there down fell she.XXXVIII‘Goe backe againe, Douglas!’ he sayd,‘And I will goe in thy companye;For sudden sicknesse yonder lady has tane,And ever, alas, she will but dye!XXXIX‘If ought come to yonder ladye but good,Then blamèd sore that I shall bee,Because a banish’d man I am,And driven out of my owne countrye.’—XL‘Come on, come on, my lord,’ he sayes,‘And all such talking let a-bee;There’s ladyes enow left in Lough LevenFor to cheere yonder gay ladye.’XLI‘An you will not goe your selfe, my lord,You will lett my chamberlaine go with mee;We shall now take our boate againe,And soone wee shall overtake thee.’—XLII‘Come on, come on, my lord,’ he sayes,‘And all this talking now let a-bee;For my sister is craftye enougheFor to beguile thousands such as you and mee.’XLIIIWhen they had saylèd fifty myle,Now fifty myle upon the sea,Hee asked, ‘How ffarr is it to that shootingThat William Douglas promised me?’—XLIV‘Now faire words makès foolès faine,And that may be seene by thy master and thee;For happen you’ll think it soone enougheWhenever you that shooting see.’XLVJamye pulled his hat now over his browe,I wot the teares fell in his e’e;And he is to his master againe,And for to tell him the veretye.XLVI‘He says fayre words makes foolès faine,And that may be seene by you and mee,For happen we’ll thinke it soone enougheWhenever we that shooting see.’XLVII‘Hold upp thy head, Jamye,’ the Erle sayd,‘And never let thy hart fayle thee;He did it but to prove thee with,And see how thow wo’ld take with death trulye.’XLVIIIWhen they had sayl’d other fifty mile,Other fifty mile upon the sea,Lord Percye called to him, himselfe,Sayd, ‘Douglas, what wilt thou doe with mee?’XLIX‘Looke that your brydle be wight[1136], my lord,That you may goe as a shipp at sea;Looke that your spurres be bright and sharpe,That you may pricke her while she’le awaye.’L‘What needeth this, Douglas,’ he sayth,‘That thou needest to ffloutè mee?For I was counted a horsseman goodBefore that ever I met with thee.LI‘A ffalsè Hector hath my horsse,And ever an evill death may hee dye!And Willye Armestronge hath my spurresAnd all the geere belongs to mee.’LIIWhen they had sayled other fifty mile,Other fifty mile upon the sea,They landed low by Berwicke-side;[Soe Douglas betray’d the] Lord Percye.

Now list and lithe, you gentlemen,And I’st tell you the veretye,How they have dealt with a banish’d man,Driven out of his owne countrye.

When as he came on Scottish ground,As woe and wonder be them amonge!Full much was there traitoryeThey wrought the Erle of Northumberland.

When they were at the supper set,Before many goodly gentlemen,They fell a flouting and mocking both,And said to the Erle of Northumberland:

‘What makes you be soe sad, my lord,And in your mind soe sorrowfullye?In the north to-morrow there is a shooting,And thither thou’st goe, my Lord Percye.

‘The buttes are sett, and the shooting is made,And there is like to be great royaltye,And I am sworne into my bill[1129]Thither to bring my Lord Percye.’

‘I’le give thee my hand, Douglas,’ he says,‘And by the faith in my bodye,If that thou wilt ryde to the worldis end,Then I’le ryde in thy companye.’

And then bespake the good ladye,Mary a Douglas was her name:‘You shall byde here, good English lord;My brother is a traitorous man.

‘He is a traitor stout and stronge,As I’st tell you the veretye;For he hath ta’en ’liverance of the Erle,And into England he will ‘liver thee.’—

‘Now hold thy tongue, thou goodly ladye,Now all this talking let a-bee;For all the gold that’s in Lough Leven,William wo’ld not ’liver mee.

‘It wo’ld breake truce betweene England and Scottland,And freinds againe they wo’ld never bee,If he sho’ld ‘liver a banisht erle,Was driven out of his owne countrye.’—

‘Hold your tounge, my lord,’ she sayes,‘There is much falsehood them amonge;Soone they will part them freinds againe,When you are dead, then they are done.

‘If you will give me any trust, my lord,I’le tell you how you best may bee;You’st let my brother ryde his wayes,And tell those English lords, trulye,

‘How that you cannot with them ryde,Because you are in an isle of the sea;Then, ere my brother come againe,To Edenborrow castle I’le carry thee.

‘I’le ’liver you unto the Lord Hume,And you know a trew Scothe lord is hee,For he hath lost both land and goodsIn ayding of your good bodye.’—

‘Marry, I am woe, woman,’ he sayes,‘That any friend fares worse for me;For where one saith it is a true tale,Then two will say it is a lee.

‘When that I was at home in my realme,Amonge my tennants all trulye,In my time of losse, wherin my need stoode,They came to ayd me honestlye.

‘Therefore I left a many a child fatherlese,And many a widdow to looke wanne;Therefore do thou blame nothing, ladye,But the woeffull warres which I began.’—

‘If you will give me noe trust, my lord,Nor noe credence you will give mee,An you’le come hither to my right hand,Indeed, my lord, I’le let you see,’—

Says, ‘I never loved noe witchcraft,Nor never dealt with treacherye,But evermore held the hye way;Alas, that may be seene by mee!’—

‘If you will not come your selfe, my lord,You’le lett your chamberlaine goe with me,Three words that I may to him speake,And soone he shall come againe to thee.’

When James Swynard came that lady before,She let him see thro’ the weme[1130]of her ringHow many there was of English lordsTo wayte[1131]there for his master and him.

‘But who beene yonder, my good ladye,That walkes soe royallye on yond greene?’—‘Yond is Lord Hunsden, Jamye,’ she sayd,‘Alas, he’le doe you both tree and teene[1132]!’—

‘And who beene yonder, thou gay ladye,That walkes soe royallye him beside?’—‘Yond’s Sir William Drurye, Jamye,’ she sayd,‘And a keene captain he is, and tryde.’—

‘How many miles is’t, thou good ladye,Betwixt yond English lord and mee?’—‘Marry, thrice fifty mile, Jamye,’ she sayd,‘And even to sayle and by the sea.

‘I never was on English ground,Nor never see it with mine eye,But as my wit and wisedome serves,And as the booke it telleth mee.

‘My mother, she was a witch woman,And part of it she learnèd mee;She wo’ld let me see out of Lough LevenWhat they dyd in London citye.’—

‘But who is yond, thou good ladye,Comes yonder with an osterne[1133]face?’‘Yond’s Sir John Forster, Jamye,’ she sayd;‘Alas! he’ll do ye sore disgrace.’

He pulled his hat downe over his eyes,And, Lord, he wept soe tenderlye!He is gone unto his master againe,And even to tell him the veretye.

‘Now hast thou beene with Mary,’ he sayd,‘Even as thy tounge will tell to mee;But if thou trust any woman’s words,Thou must refraine good companye.’

‘It is noe words, my lord,’ he sayes;‘Yonder the men she lets me see,How many English lords there isIs wayting there for you and mee.

‘Yonder I see the Lord Hunsden,And he and you is of third degree[1134];A greater enemye, indeed, my Lord,In England never a one have yee.’—

‘And I have beene in Lough LevenThe most part of these yeerès three:Yet had I never noe out-rake[1135],Nor good gamès that I co’ld see.

‘And I am thus bidden to yonder shootingBy William Douglas all trulye;Therfore speake never a word of thy mouthThat thou thinkès will hinder me.’

Then he writhe the gold ring of his fingarAnd gave it to that gay ladye;Sayes, ‘That was a legacye left unto meeIn Harley woods where I co’ld bee.’—

‘Then ffarewell hart, and farewell hand,And ffarwell all good companye!That woman shall never beare a sonneShall know soe much of your privitye.’—

‘Now hold thy tongue, ladye,’ he sayde,‘And make not all this dole for me,For I may well drinke, but I’st never eate,Till ance againe in Lough Leven I bee.’

He tooke his boate at the Lough Leven,For to sayle now over the sea,And he hath cast up a silver wand,Says, ‘Fare thou well, my good ladye!’The ladye looked owre her left sholder;In a dead swoone there down fell she.

‘Goe backe againe, Douglas!’ he sayd,‘And I will goe in thy companye;For sudden sicknesse yonder lady has tane,And ever, alas, she will but dye!

‘If ought come to yonder ladye but good,Then blamèd sore that I shall bee,Because a banish’d man I am,And driven out of my owne countrye.’—

‘Come on, come on, my lord,’ he sayes,‘And all such talking let a-bee;There’s ladyes enow left in Lough LevenFor to cheere yonder gay ladye.’

‘An you will not goe your selfe, my lord,You will lett my chamberlaine go with mee;We shall now take our boate againe,And soone wee shall overtake thee.’—

‘Come on, come on, my lord,’ he sayes,‘And all this talking now let a-bee;For my sister is craftye enougheFor to beguile thousands such as you and mee.’

When they had saylèd fifty myle,Now fifty myle upon the sea,Hee asked, ‘How ffarr is it to that shootingThat William Douglas promised me?’—

‘Now faire words makès foolès faine,And that may be seene by thy master and thee;For happen you’ll think it soone enougheWhenever you that shooting see.’

Jamye pulled his hat now over his browe,I wot the teares fell in his e’e;And he is to his master againe,And for to tell him the veretye.

‘He says fayre words makes foolès faine,And that may be seene by you and mee,For happen we’ll thinke it soone enougheWhenever we that shooting see.’

‘Hold upp thy head, Jamye,’ the Erle sayd,‘And never let thy hart fayle thee;He did it but to prove thee with,And see how thow wo’ld take with death trulye.’

When they had sayl’d other fifty mile,Other fifty mile upon the sea,Lord Percye called to him, himselfe,Sayd, ‘Douglas, what wilt thou doe with mee?’

‘Looke that your brydle be wight[1136], my lord,That you may goe as a shipp at sea;Looke that your spurres be bright and sharpe,That you may pricke her while she’le awaye.’

‘What needeth this, Douglas,’ he sayth,‘That thou needest to ffloutè mee?For I was counted a horsseman goodBefore that ever I met with thee.

‘A ffalsè Hector hath my horsse,And ever an evill death may hee dye!And Willye Armestronge hath my spurresAnd all the geere belongs to mee.’

When they had sayled other fifty mile,Other fifty mile upon the sea,They landed low by Berwicke-side;[Soe Douglas betray’d the] Lord Percye.

FOOTNOTES:[1129]into my bill = on paper, in writing.[1130]weme = inward.[1131]wayte = wait in ambush.[1132]tree and teene = injury and grief.[1133]osterne = austere.[1134]of third degree = third cousins.[1135]out-rake = holiday.[1136]wight = strong.

[1129]into my bill = on paper, in writing.

[1130]weme = inward.

[1131]wayte = wait in ambush.

[1132]tree and teene = injury and grief.

[1133]osterne = austere.

[1134]of third degree = third cousins.

[1135]out-rake = holiday.

[1136]wight = strong.

IAs it befel in midsummer-time,When birds singe sweetlye on every tree,Our noble king, King Henry the Eighth,Over the river of Thames pass’d he.IIHe was no sooner over the river,Downe in a forrest to take the ayre,But eighty merchants of London cityeCame kneeling before King Henry there.III‘O ye are welcome, rich merchànts,Good saylers, welcome unto me!’They swore by the rood they were saylers good,But rich merchànts they co’ld not be.IV‘To France nor Flanders dare we not passe,Nor Bourdeaux voyage we dare not fare,All for a false robber that lyes on the seas,And robbs us of our merchants-ware.’VKing Henry was stout, and he turned him about,And swore by the Lord that was mickle of might‘I thought he’d not been in the world throughoutThat durst have wrought England such unright.’VIBut ever they sighèd, and said, alas!Unto King Harry this answer againe:‘He is a proud Scott that will robb us allWere we twenty shipps and he but one.’VIIThe King looket over his left shouldèr,Amongst his lords and barrons so free:‘Have I never a lord in all my realmeWill fetch yond traitor unto me?’VIII‘Yes, that dare I!’ says my lord Charles Howard,Neere to the King wheras he did stand,‘If that Your Grace will give me leave,My self will perform what you command.’IX‘Thou shalt have six hundred men,’ saith our King,‘And chuse them out of my realme so free;[Moreover] mariners and ship boyes,To guide the great ship on the sea.’X‘I’le goe speake with Sir Andrew,’ says my Lord Howard;‘Upon the sea, if he be there;I will bring him and his ship to shore,Or before my prince I will ne’er come neere.’XIThe first of all my Lord did call,A noble gunner he was one;This man was three score yeares and ten,And Peter Simon was his name.XII‘Peter,’ says he, ‘I must sayle to the sea,To seek out an enemy; God be my speed!Before all others I have chosen thee;Of a hundred gunners thou’st be my head.’XIII‘My lord,’ says he, ‘if you’ve chosen meOf a hundred gunners to be the head,You may hang me at your maine-mast treeIf I miss my mark past three pence bread[1137].’XIVThe next of all my lord he did call,A noble bowman he was one;In Yorkshire was this gentleman borne,And William Horsley was his name.XV‘Horsley,’ says he, ‘I must sayle to the sea,To seek out an enemy; God be my speede!Before all others I have chosen thee;Of a hundred bowemen thou’st be my head.’XVI‘My lord,’ says he, ‘if you’ve chosen meOf a hundred bowemen to be the head,Hang me at your main-mast treeIf I miss my mark past twelve pence bread.’XVIIWith pikes, and gunnes, and bowmen bold,This noble Howard is gone to the seaOn the day before Midsummer-even,And out at Thames’ mouth saylèd they.XVIIIThey had not saylèd dayès threeUpon their journey they took in hand,But there they met with a noble ship,And stoutely made it both stay and stand.XIX‘Thou must tell me thy name,’ says Charles my lord Howard,‘Or who thou art, or from whence thou came,Yea, and where thy dwelling is,To whom and where thy ship does belong.’XX‘My name,’ says he, ‘is Henery Hunt,With a pure hart and a penitent mind;I and my ship they doe belongUnto the New-castle that stands upon Tyne.’—XXI‘Now thou must tell me, Henery Hunt,As thou hast saylèd by day and by night,Hast thou not heard of a stout robbèr?Men calls him Sir Andrew Barton, Knight.’XXIIBut ever he sighèd, and said, ‘Alas!Full well, my lord, I know that wight;He has robb’d me of my merchants-ware,And I was his pris’ner but yesternight.XXIII‘As I was sayling upon the sea,And a Bourdeaux voyage as I did fare,He claspèd me to his archèborde[1138],And robb’d me of all my merchants-ware.XXIV‘And I am a man both poor and bare,Every man will have his own of me;And I am bound towards London to fare,To complain unto my prince Henrye.XXV‘That shall not need,’ says my Lord Howard;‘If thou canst let me this robber see,For every penny he hath taken thee fro’Thou shall be rewarded a shilling,’ quoth he.XXVI‘Now God forfend,’ says Henery Hunt,‘My lord, you sho’ld work so far amisse!God keep you out of that traitor’s hands!For you wot full little what man he is.XXVII‘He is brasse within, and steele without,And beams he bears in his topcastle stronge;His ship hath ordinance clean round about;Besides, my lord, he is very well mann’d.XXVIII‘He hath a pinnace is dearlye dight[1139],Saint Andrew’s cross, that is his guide[1140];His pinnace bears nine-score men and more,With fifteen cannons on every side.XXIX‘Were you twenty ships, and he but one,Either in archbord or in hall[1141],He wo’ld overcome you everye one,An if his beams they doe down fall.’XXX‘This is cold comfort,’ says my Lord Howard,‘To welcome a stranger thus to the sea;I’le bring him and his ship to shore,Or else into Scotland he shall carry me.’XXXI‘Then, my lord, you must get a noble gunner;One that can set well with his e’e,And sink his pinnace into the sea,And soon then overcome will he be.XXXII‘And when that you have done all this,If you chance Sir Andrew for to board,Let no man to his topcastle go;And I will give you a glass[1142], my lord,XXXIII‘And then you need to fear no Scot,Whether you sayle by day or by night;And to-morrow, by seven of the clocke,You shall meete with Sir Andrew Barton, Knight.’XXXIVThe merchant set Lord Howard a glassSo well apparent in his sightThat on the morrow by seven of the clockHe spy’d Sir Andrew Barton, Knight.XXXVLord Howard he swore a mighty oathWhen he saw his hache-bords dearly dight;‘Now by my faith and by my troth,Yonder proud Scott is a worthy wight.XXXVI‘Take in your ancients[1143]and your standards,Yea, that no man shall them see,And put me forth a white willow wand,As merchants use to sayle the sea.’XXXVIIBut they stirr’d[1144]neither top nor mast,But Sir Andrew they passèd by.—‘What English are yonder,’ said Sir Andrew,‘That can[1145]so little curtesye?XXXVIII‘I have been admiral over the sea[Methinketh] more then these yeeres three;There is never an English nor Portingall dog,Can pass this way without leave of me.XXXIX‘But now yonder pedlars, they are pass’d,Which is no little grief to me:Fetch them backe,’ sayes Sir Andrew Barton,‘They shall all hang at my maine-mast tree.’XLWith that the pinnace it shot off,That my Lord Howard might it well ken;It strokè down my lord’s fore-màst,And kill’d fourteen of my lord his men.XLI‘Come hither, Simon!’ says my Lord Howard,‘Look that thy words be true thou said;I’le hang thee at my maine-mast treeIf thou miss thy mark past three pence bread.’XLIISimon was old, but his hart it was bold;He tooke downe a piece, and laid it full low;Chaine yeards nine he put therein,Besides other great shot less and moe.XLIIIWith that he let his gun-shot go;So well he settled it with his e’e,The first sight that Sir Andrew saw,He saw his pinnace sunk in the sea.XLIVWhen Sir Andrew saw his pinnace sunk,Lord! in his heart he was not well!‘Cut my ropes! it is time to be gone!I’le goe fetch yond pedlars back mysell!’XLVWhen my Lord Howard saw Sir Andrew loose,Lord! in his heart that he was faine!‘Strike on your drums! spread out your ancients!Sound out your trumpets! sound out amain!’XLVI‘Fight on, my men!’ says Sir Andrew Barton;‘Weate[1146], howsoever this geare[1147]will sway[1148],It is my Lord Admiral of EnglandIs come to seek me on the sea.’XLVIISimon had a sone; with shot of a gun—Well Sir Andrew might it ken—He shot it in at the middle deck,And killed sixty more of Sir Andrew’s men.XLVIII[Bold] Hunt came in at the other side,And at Sir Andrew he shot then;He drove down his fore-mast tree,And kill’d eighty more of Sir Andrew’s men.XLIX‘I have done a good turne,’ sayes Henery Hunt;‘Sir Andrew is not our King’s friend;He hoped t’ have undone me yesternight,But I hope I have quit him well in the end.’L‘Ever alas!’ sayd Sir Andrew Barton,‘What sho’ld a man either thinke or say?Yonder false thief is my strongest enemy,Who was my prisoner but yesterday.LI‘Come hither to me, thou Gourden good,And be thou ready at my call,And I will give thee three hundred poundIf thou wilt let my beames downe fall.’LIIWith that hee swarm’d[1149]the main-mast tree,Soe did he it with might and maine;But Horsley, with a bearing arrow[1150],Stroke the Gourden through the braine.LIIIAnd he fell into the hatches againe,And sore of his wound that he did bleed;Then word went through Sir Andrew’s men,How that the Gourden he was dead.LIV‘Come hither to me, James Hamilton,Thou’rt my sister’s son, I have no more;I will give thee six hundred poundIf thou wilt let my beames downe fall.’LVWith that he swarm’d the main-mast tree,Soe did he it with might and main:Horsley, with another broad arrow,Strake the yeaman thoro’ the brain.LVIThat he fell downe to the hatches againe;Sore of his wound that hee did bleed,Covetousness gets no gaine,It is very true, as the Welshman said.LVIIBut when he saw his nephew slaine,Lord! in his heart he was not well!‘Go fetch me downe my armour of proof,For I will to the topcastle mysell.LVIII‘Go fetch me downe my armour of proof,For it is gilded with gold so cleere;God be with my brother, John of Barton!Amongst the Portingalls he did it weare.’LIXBut when he had his armour of proof,And on his body he had it on,Every man that lookèd at himSaid, Gun nor arrow he need fear none.LX‘Come hither, Horsley!’ says my Lord Howard,‘And look your shaft that it goe right;Shoot a good shoote in the time of need,And for thy shooting thou’st be made knight.’LXI‘I’le do my best,’ sayes Horsley then,‘Your Honour shall see before I goe;If I sho’ld be hang’d at your maine-mast tree,I have in my ship but arrows two.’LXIIBut at Sir Andrew he shot then;He made so sure to hit his mark;Under the spole[1151]of his right armeHe smote Sir Andrew quite thro’ the heart.LXIIIYet from the tree he wo’ld not start,But he cling’d to it with might and main;Under the collar then of his jacke[1152],He stroke Sir Andrew thoro’ the brain.LXIV‘Fight on, my men!’ says Sir Andrew Barton,‘I am hurt, but I am not slain;I’le lay me downe and bleed a-while,And then I’le rise and fight again.LXV‘Fight on, my men!’ says Sir Andrew Barton,‘These English dogs they bite so lowe;Fight on for Scotland and Saint AndrewWhile that you hear my whistle blowe!’LXVIBut when they co’ld not hear his whistle,Says Henery Hunt, ‘I’le lay my headYou may board yonder noble ship, my lord,For I know Sir Andrew he is dead.’LXVIIWith that they boarded this noble ship,So did they it with might and main;They found eighteen score Scots alive,Besides the rest were maim’d and slaine.LXVIIILord Howard took a sword in his hand,And so smote off Sir Andrew’s head;The Scots stood by did weepe and mourne,But never a word they spoke or sayd.LXIXHe caused his body to be taken downe,And over the hatch-bord cast into the sea,And about his middle three hundred crownes:‘Wheresoever thou lands, it will bury thee!’LXXWith his head they sayl’d into England againe,With right good will and force and main,And on the day before New-Year’s EvenInto Thames’ mouth they came againe.LXXILord Howard wrote to King Henry’s grace,With all the newes hee co’ld him bring:‘Such a New Year’s gift I have brought to your GraceAs never did subject to any King.LXXII‘For merchandise, yea and manhood,The like is nowhere to be found;The sight of these wo’ld do you good,For you have not the like in your English ground.’LXXIIIWhen the King heard tell that they were come,Full royally he welcomed them home;Sir Andrew’s ship was his New-Year’s gift;A braver ship you never saw none.LXXIVNow hath our King Sir Andrew’s ship,Beset with pearles and precyous stones;And now hath England two ships of war,Two ships of war, before but one.LXXV‘Who holpe to this?’ says King Henrye,‘That I may reward him for his paine.’—‘Henery Hunt, and Peter Simon,William Horsley, and I the same.’—LXXVI‘Harry Hunt shall have his whistle and chaine,And all his jewels whatsoe’er they be,And other rich gifts that I will not name,For his good service he hath done me.LXXVII‘Horsley, right thou’st be a knight,Lands and livings thou shalt have store;Howard shall be Earl of Nottingham,And so was never Howard before.LXXVIII‘Now, Peter Simon, thou art old;I will maintaine thee and thy son;Thou shalt have five hundred pound all in goldFor the good service that thou hast done.’LXXIXWith that King Henrye shifted his room[1153];In came the Queene and ladyes bright;Other arrands they had noneBut to see Sir Andrew Barton, Knight.LXXXBut when they saw his deadly face,His eyes were hollow in his head;‘I wo’ld give a hundred pound,’ says his Grace,‘The man were alive as he is dead!LXXXI‘Yet for the manful part he hath play’d,Both here at home and beyond the sea,His men shall have half-a-crowne a dayTill they come to my brother, King Jamie.’

As it befel in midsummer-time,When birds singe sweetlye on every tree,Our noble king, King Henry the Eighth,Over the river of Thames pass’d he.

He was no sooner over the river,Downe in a forrest to take the ayre,But eighty merchants of London cityeCame kneeling before King Henry there.

‘O ye are welcome, rich merchànts,Good saylers, welcome unto me!’They swore by the rood they were saylers good,But rich merchànts they co’ld not be.

‘To France nor Flanders dare we not passe,Nor Bourdeaux voyage we dare not fare,All for a false robber that lyes on the seas,And robbs us of our merchants-ware.’

King Henry was stout, and he turned him about,And swore by the Lord that was mickle of might‘I thought he’d not been in the world throughoutThat durst have wrought England such unright.’

But ever they sighèd, and said, alas!Unto King Harry this answer againe:‘He is a proud Scott that will robb us allWere we twenty shipps and he but one.’

The King looket over his left shouldèr,Amongst his lords and barrons so free:‘Have I never a lord in all my realmeWill fetch yond traitor unto me?’

‘Yes, that dare I!’ says my lord Charles Howard,Neere to the King wheras he did stand,‘If that Your Grace will give me leave,My self will perform what you command.’

‘Thou shalt have six hundred men,’ saith our King,‘And chuse them out of my realme so free;[Moreover] mariners and ship boyes,To guide the great ship on the sea.’

‘I’le goe speake with Sir Andrew,’ says my Lord Howard;‘Upon the sea, if he be there;I will bring him and his ship to shore,Or before my prince I will ne’er come neere.’

The first of all my Lord did call,A noble gunner he was one;This man was three score yeares and ten,And Peter Simon was his name.

‘Peter,’ says he, ‘I must sayle to the sea,To seek out an enemy; God be my speed!Before all others I have chosen thee;Of a hundred gunners thou’st be my head.’

‘My lord,’ says he, ‘if you’ve chosen meOf a hundred gunners to be the head,You may hang me at your maine-mast treeIf I miss my mark past three pence bread[1137].’

The next of all my lord he did call,A noble bowman he was one;In Yorkshire was this gentleman borne,And William Horsley was his name.

‘Horsley,’ says he, ‘I must sayle to the sea,To seek out an enemy; God be my speede!Before all others I have chosen thee;Of a hundred bowemen thou’st be my head.’

‘My lord,’ says he, ‘if you’ve chosen meOf a hundred bowemen to be the head,Hang me at your main-mast treeIf I miss my mark past twelve pence bread.’

With pikes, and gunnes, and bowmen bold,This noble Howard is gone to the seaOn the day before Midsummer-even,And out at Thames’ mouth saylèd they.

They had not saylèd dayès threeUpon their journey they took in hand,But there they met with a noble ship,And stoutely made it both stay and stand.

‘Thou must tell me thy name,’ says Charles my lord Howard,‘Or who thou art, or from whence thou came,Yea, and where thy dwelling is,To whom and where thy ship does belong.’

‘My name,’ says he, ‘is Henery Hunt,With a pure hart and a penitent mind;I and my ship they doe belongUnto the New-castle that stands upon Tyne.’—

‘Now thou must tell me, Henery Hunt,As thou hast saylèd by day and by night,Hast thou not heard of a stout robbèr?Men calls him Sir Andrew Barton, Knight.’

But ever he sighèd, and said, ‘Alas!Full well, my lord, I know that wight;He has robb’d me of my merchants-ware,And I was his pris’ner but yesternight.

‘As I was sayling upon the sea,And a Bourdeaux voyage as I did fare,He claspèd me to his archèborde[1138],And robb’d me of all my merchants-ware.

‘And I am a man both poor and bare,Every man will have his own of me;And I am bound towards London to fare,To complain unto my prince Henrye.

‘That shall not need,’ says my Lord Howard;‘If thou canst let me this robber see,For every penny he hath taken thee fro’Thou shall be rewarded a shilling,’ quoth he.

‘Now God forfend,’ says Henery Hunt,‘My lord, you sho’ld work so far amisse!God keep you out of that traitor’s hands!For you wot full little what man he is.

‘He is brasse within, and steele without,And beams he bears in his topcastle stronge;His ship hath ordinance clean round about;Besides, my lord, he is very well mann’d.

‘He hath a pinnace is dearlye dight[1139],Saint Andrew’s cross, that is his guide[1140];His pinnace bears nine-score men and more,With fifteen cannons on every side.

‘Were you twenty ships, and he but one,Either in archbord or in hall[1141],He wo’ld overcome you everye one,An if his beams they doe down fall.’

‘This is cold comfort,’ says my Lord Howard,‘To welcome a stranger thus to the sea;I’le bring him and his ship to shore,Or else into Scotland he shall carry me.’

‘Then, my lord, you must get a noble gunner;One that can set well with his e’e,And sink his pinnace into the sea,And soon then overcome will he be.

‘And when that you have done all this,If you chance Sir Andrew for to board,Let no man to his topcastle go;And I will give you a glass[1142], my lord,

‘And then you need to fear no Scot,Whether you sayle by day or by night;And to-morrow, by seven of the clocke,You shall meete with Sir Andrew Barton, Knight.’

The merchant set Lord Howard a glassSo well apparent in his sightThat on the morrow by seven of the clockHe spy’d Sir Andrew Barton, Knight.

Lord Howard he swore a mighty oathWhen he saw his hache-bords dearly dight;‘Now by my faith and by my troth,Yonder proud Scott is a worthy wight.

‘Take in your ancients[1143]and your standards,Yea, that no man shall them see,And put me forth a white willow wand,As merchants use to sayle the sea.’

But they stirr’d[1144]neither top nor mast,But Sir Andrew they passèd by.—‘What English are yonder,’ said Sir Andrew,‘That can[1145]so little curtesye?

‘I have been admiral over the sea[Methinketh] more then these yeeres three;There is never an English nor Portingall dog,Can pass this way without leave of me.

‘But now yonder pedlars, they are pass’d,Which is no little grief to me:Fetch them backe,’ sayes Sir Andrew Barton,‘They shall all hang at my maine-mast tree.’

With that the pinnace it shot off,That my Lord Howard might it well ken;It strokè down my lord’s fore-màst,And kill’d fourteen of my lord his men.

‘Come hither, Simon!’ says my Lord Howard,‘Look that thy words be true thou said;I’le hang thee at my maine-mast treeIf thou miss thy mark past three pence bread.’

Simon was old, but his hart it was bold;He tooke downe a piece, and laid it full low;Chaine yeards nine he put therein,Besides other great shot less and moe.

With that he let his gun-shot go;So well he settled it with his e’e,The first sight that Sir Andrew saw,He saw his pinnace sunk in the sea.

When Sir Andrew saw his pinnace sunk,Lord! in his heart he was not well!‘Cut my ropes! it is time to be gone!I’le goe fetch yond pedlars back mysell!’

When my Lord Howard saw Sir Andrew loose,Lord! in his heart that he was faine!‘Strike on your drums! spread out your ancients!Sound out your trumpets! sound out amain!’

‘Fight on, my men!’ says Sir Andrew Barton;‘Weate[1146], howsoever this geare[1147]will sway[1148],It is my Lord Admiral of EnglandIs come to seek me on the sea.’

Simon had a sone; with shot of a gun—Well Sir Andrew might it ken—He shot it in at the middle deck,And killed sixty more of Sir Andrew’s men.

[Bold] Hunt came in at the other side,And at Sir Andrew he shot then;He drove down his fore-mast tree,And kill’d eighty more of Sir Andrew’s men.

‘I have done a good turne,’ sayes Henery Hunt;‘Sir Andrew is not our King’s friend;He hoped t’ have undone me yesternight,But I hope I have quit him well in the end.’

‘Ever alas!’ sayd Sir Andrew Barton,‘What sho’ld a man either thinke or say?Yonder false thief is my strongest enemy,Who was my prisoner but yesterday.

‘Come hither to me, thou Gourden good,And be thou ready at my call,And I will give thee three hundred poundIf thou wilt let my beames downe fall.’

With that hee swarm’d[1149]the main-mast tree,Soe did he it with might and maine;But Horsley, with a bearing arrow[1150],Stroke the Gourden through the braine.

And he fell into the hatches againe,And sore of his wound that he did bleed;Then word went through Sir Andrew’s men,How that the Gourden he was dead.

‘Come hither to me, James Hamilton,Thou’rt my sister’s son, I have no more;I will give thee six hundred poundIf thou wilt let my beames downe fall.’

With that he swarm’d the main-mast tree,Soe did he it with might and main:Horsley, with another broad arrow,Strake the yeaman thoro’ the brain.

That he fell downe to the hatches againe;Sore of his wound that hee did bleed,Covetousness gets no gaine,It is very true, as the Welshman said.

But when he saw his nephew slaine,Lord! in his heart he was not well!‘Go fetch me downe my armour of proof,For I will to the topcastle mysell.

‘Go fetch me downe my armour of proof,For it is gilded with gold so cleere;God be with my brother, John of Barton!Amongst the Portingalls he did it weare.’

But when he had his armour of proof,And on his body he had it on,Every man that lookèd at himSaid, Gun nor arrow he need fear none.

‘Come hither, Horsley!’ says my Lord Howard,‘And look your shaft that it goe right;Shoot a good shoote in the time of need,And for thy shooting thou’st be made knight.’

‘I’le do my best,’ sayes Horsley then,‘Your Honour shall see before I goe;If I sho’ld be hang’d at your maine-mast tree,I have in my ship but arrows two.’

But at Sir Andrew he shot then;He made so sure to hit his mark;Under the spole[1151]of his right armeHe smote Sir Andrew quite thro’ the heart.

Yet from the tree he wo’ld not start,But he cling’d to it with might and main;Under the collar then of his jacke[1152],He stroke Sir Andrew thoro’ the brain.

‘Fight on, my men!’ says Sir Andrew Barton,‘I am hurt, but I am not slain;I’le lay me downe and bleed a-while,And then I’le rise and fight again.

‘Fight on, my men!’ says Sir Andrew Barton,‘These English dogs they bite so lowe;Fight on for Scotland and Saint AndrewWhile that you hear my whistle blowe!’

But when they co’ld not hear his whistle,Says Henery Hunt, ‘I’le lay my headYou may board yonder noble ship, my lord,For I know Sir Andrew he is dead.’

With that they boarded this noble ship,So did they it with might and main;They found eighteen score Scots alive,Besides the rest were maim’d and slaine.

Lord Howard took a sword in his hand,And so smote off Sir Andrew’s head;The Scots stood by did weepe and mourne,But never a word they spoke or sayd.

He caused his body to be taken downe,And over the hatch-bord cast into the sea,And about his middle three hundred crownes:‘Wheresoever thou lands, it will bury thee!’

With his head they sayl’d into England againe,With right good will and force and main,And on the day before New-Year’s EvenInto Thames’ mouth they came againe.

Lord Howard wrote to King Henry’s grace,With all the newes hee co’ld him bring:‘Such a New Year’s gift I have brought to your GraceAs never did subject to any King.

‘For merchandise, yea and manhood,The like is nowhere to be found;The sight of these wo’ld do you good,For you have not the like in your English ground.’

When the King heard tell that they were come,Full royally he welcomed them home;Sir Andrew’s ship was his New-Year’s gift;A braver ship you never saw none.

Now hath our King Sir Andrew’s ship,Beset with pearles and precyous stones;And now hath England two ships of war,Two ships of war, before but one.

‘Who holpe to this?’ says King Henrye,‘That I may reward him for his paine.’—‘Henery Hunt, and Peter Simon,William Horsley, and I the same.’—

‘Harry Hunt shall have his whistle and chaine,And all his jewels whatsoe’er they be,And other rich gifts that I will not name,For his good service he hath done me.

‘Horsley, right thou’st be a knight,Lands and livings thou shalt have store;Howard shall be Earl of Nottingham,And so was never Howard before.

‘Now, Peter Simon, thou art old;I will maintaine thee and thy son;Thou shalt have five hundred pound all in goldFor the good service that thou hast done.’

With that King Henrye shifted his room[1153];In came the Queene and ladyes bright;Other arrands they had noneBut to see Sir Andrew Barton, Knight.

But when they saw his deadly face,His eyes were hollow in his head;‘I wo’ld give a hundred pound,’ says his Grace,‘The man were alive as he is dead!

‘Yet for the manful part he hath play’d,Both here at home and beyond the sea,His men shall have half-a-crowne a dayTill they come to my brother, King Jamie.’

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