But when hee saw his sisters sonne slaine, Lord! in his heart hee was not well: ‘Goe ffeitch me downe my armour of prove, For I will to the topcastle my-selfe. ‘Goe ffeitch me downe my armour of prooffe, For itt is gilded with gold soe cleere; God be with my brother, Iohn of Bartton! Amongst the Portingalls hee did itt weare.’ But when hee had his armour of prooffe, And on his body hee had itt on, Every man that looked att him Sayd, Gunn nor arrow hee neede feare none. ‘Come hither, Horsley!’ sayes my lord Haward, ‘And looke your shaft that itt goe right; Shoot a good shoote in the time of need, And ffor thy shooting thoust be made a knight.’ ‘I’le doe my best,’ sayes Horslay then, ‘Your Honor shall see beffore I goe; If I shold be hanged att your maine-mast, I have in my shipp but arrowes tow.’ But att Sir Andrew hee shott then; Hee made sure to hitt his marke; Under the spole of his right arme Hee smote Sir Andrew quite throw the hart. Yett ffrom the tree hee wold not start, But hee clinged to itt with might and maine; Under the coller then of his iacke, He stroke Sir Andrew thorrow the braine. ‘Ffight on, my men,’ sayes Sir Andrew Bartton ‘I am hurt, but I am not slaine; I’le lay mee downe and bleed a-while, And then I’le rise and ffight againe. ‘Ffight on, my men,’ sayes Sir Andrew Bartton, ‘These English doggs they bite soe lowe; Ffight on for Scottland and Saint Andrew Till you heare my whistle blowe!’ But when they cold not heare his whistle blow, Sayes Harry Hunt, ‘I’le lay my head You may bord yonder noble shipp, my lord, For I know Sir Andrew hee is dead.’ With that they borded this noble shipp, Soe did they itt with might and maine; They ffound eighteen score Scotts alive, Besids the rest were maimed and slaine. My lord Haward tooke a sword in his hand, And smote of Sir Andrews head; The Scotts stood by did weepe and mourne, But never a word durst speake or say. He caused his body to be taken downe, And over the hatch-bord cast into the sea, And about his middle thre hundred crownes: ‘Whersoever thou lands, itt will bury thee.’ With his head they sayled into England againe, With right good will, and fforce and main, And the day beffore Newyeeres even Into Thames mouth they came againe. My lord Haward wrote to King Heneryes grace, With all the newes hee cold him bring: ‘Such a Newyeeres gifft I have brought to your Grace As never did subject to any king. ‘Ffor merchandyes and manhood, The like is nott to be ffound; The sight of these wold doe you good, Ffor you have not the like in your English ground.’