‘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.’ LXII But at Sir Andrew he shot then; He made so sure to hit his mark; Under the spole[1151] of his right arme He smote Sir Andrew quite thro’ the heart. LXIII 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. 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 Andrew While that you hear my whistle blowe!’ LXVI But when they co’ld not hear his whistle, Says Henery Hunt, ‘I’le lay my head You may board yonder noble ship, my lord, For I know Sir Andrew he is dead.’ LXVII 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. LXVIII 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. LXIX 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!’ LXX 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 Even Into Thames’ mouth they came againe. LXXI 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 Grace As 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.’ LXXIII 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. LXXIV 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. 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