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!’ XLVI ‘Fight on, my men!’ says Sir Andrew Barton; ‘Weate[1146], howsoever this geare[1147] will sway[1148], It is my Lord Admiral of England Is come to seek me on the sea.’ XLVII 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. 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 pound If thou wilt let my beames downe fall.’ LII 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. LIII 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. LIV ‘Come hither to me, James Hamilton, Thou’rt my sister’s son, I have no more; I will give thee six hundred pound If thou wilt let my beames downe fall.’ LV 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. LVI 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. LVII 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. 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.’ LIX But when he had his armour of proof, And on his body he had it on, Every man that lookèd at him Said, 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