And to-morrow by seven of the clock, You shall meet with Sir Andrew Barton, knight. I was his prisoner but yesternight, And he hath taken me sworn," quoth he; "I trust my L[ord] God will me forgive And if that oath then broken be." "You must lend me six pieces, my lord," quoth he, "Into my ship, to sail the sea, And to-morrow by nine of the clock Your Honour again then will I see." And the hatch-board where Sir Andrew lay Is hatched with gold dearly dight: "Now by my faith," says Charles, my lord Howard, "Then yonder Scot is a worthy wight. THE SECOND PART. |Take in your ancients, and your standards, Yea that no man shall them see; And put me forth a white willow wand, As merchants use to sail the sea." But they stirred neither top nor mast *; But Sir Andrew they passed by; "What English are yonder," said Sir Andrew, "That can so little courtesy? "I have been admiral over the sea More than these years three, There is never an English dog nor Portingall Can pass this way without leave of me. But now yonder pedlars they are past: Which is no little grief to me: Fetch them back," says Sir Andrew Barton, "They all shall hang at my main-mast tree." With that the pinnace it shot off; That my Lord Howard might it well ken; It stroke down my lord's fore-mast, And killed fourteen of my lord his men. "Come hither, Simon," says my lord Howard, "Look that thy words be true thou said; I'll hang thee at my main-mast tree, If thou miss thy mark past twelve pence bread." * i.e. did not salute. Simon was old, but his heart it was bold; He took down a piece and laid it full low, He put in chain yards nine, Besides other great shot less and more, With that he let his gun-shot go; So well he settled it with his eye, The first sight that Sir Andrew saw, He see his pinnace sunk in the sea. When he saw his pinnace sunk, Lord, in his heart he was not well! "Cut my ropes! it is time to be gone! Ill fetch yond pedlars back mysel'." When my lord Howard saw Sir Andrew loose, Lord! in his heart that he was fain; "Strike on your drums, spread out your ancients, Sound out your trumpets, sound out amain." "Fight on, my men," says Sir Andrew Barton, "Weet, howsoever this gear will sway; It is my lord admiral of England, Is come to seek me on the sea." Simon had a son, with shot of a gun-- Well Sir Andrew might it ken;-- He shot it in at a privy place, And killed sixty more of Sir Andrew's men. (_ancients_, ensigns. _weet,_ know. _gear_, business or affair.) Harry Hunt came in at the other side; And at Sir Andrew he shot then; He drove down his fore-mast tree, And killed eighty more of Sir Andrew's men. "I have done a good turn," says Harry Hunt; "Sir Andrew is not our king's friend;