A True Relation of the Life and Death of Sir Andrew Barton, a Pyrate and Rover on the Seas. Tune, Come follow my Love, etc.
|
WHen Flora with her frangant flowers
|
bedeckt the earth so trim and gay,
|
And Neptune with his dainty showers
|
came to present the month of May,
|
King Henry would ahunting ride,
|
over the river of Thames past he,
|
Unto a mountaintop also
|
did walk some pleasure for to see:
|
Where forty Merchants he espy'd,
|
with fifthy sail come towards him,
|
Who then no sooner were arriv'd,
|
but on their knees did thus complain:
|
An't please your Grace, we cannot sail
|
to France no voyage to be sure,
|
But Sir Andrew Barton makes us quail,
|
and robs us of our marchant-ware.
|
Vext was the King, and turning him
|
said to the Lords of high degree,
|
Have I ne'r a Lord within my realm,
|
dare fetch that Traytor unto me?
|
To him reply'd, Charles Lord Howard,
|
I will, my Liege, with heart and hand;
|
If it please you grant me leave, he said,
|
I will perform what you command.
|
To him then spoke King Henry,
|
I fear, my Lord, you are too young.
|
No whit at all, my Liege, quoth he;
|
I hope to prove in valour strong:
|
The Scotch Knight I vow to seek,
|
in what place soever he be,
|
And bring ashore with all his might,
|
or into Scotland he shall carry me.
|
A hundred Men, the King then said,
|
out of my realm shall chosen be,
|
Besides Sailors and Ship-boys,
|
to guide a great ship on the sea;
|
Bow-men and Gunners of good skill
|
shall for this service chosen be,
|
And they at thy command and will,
|
in all affairs shall wait on thee.
|
Lord Howard call'd a Gunner then,
|
who was the best in all the realm,
|
His age was threescore years and ten,
|
and Peter Simon was his name:
|
My Lord call'd then a Bow-man rare,
|
whose active hands had gained fame,
|
A Gentleman born in Yorkshire,
|
and William Horsely was his name:
|
Horsely, quoth he, I must to sea,
|
to seek a Traytor with good speed,
|
Of a hundred Bow-men brave, quoth he,
|
I have chosen thee to be the head.
|
If you, my Lord, have chosen me
|
of a hundred Men to be the head,
|
Upon the main mast I'll hanged be,
|
if twelvescore I miss one shilling's breadth.
|
Lord Howard then of courage bold,
|
went to the sea with a pleasant chear,
|
Not curb'd with winter's piercing cold,
|
tho' it was the stormy time of year;
|
Not long he had been on sea,
|
more in days than number three,
|
But one Henry Hunt there he espy'd,
|
a Merchant of New-castle was he;
|
To him Lord Howard call'd out amain,
|
and strictly charged him to stand,
|
Demanding then from whence he came,
|
or where he did intend to land:
|
The Merchant then made answer soon,
|
with heavy heart and careful mind,
|
My Lord, my ship it doth belong
|
unto New-castle upon Tine.
|
Canst thou shew me, the Lord did say,
|
as thou didst sail by day and night,
|
A Scottish Rover on the sea,
|
his name is Andrew Barton, Knight?
|
Then the Merchant sigh'd and said,
|
with grieved mind, and well-away,
|
But over-well I know that Wight,
|
I was is Prisoner yesterday:
|
As I, my Lord, did sail from France,
|
a Burdeaux voyage to take so far,
|
I met with Sir Andrew Barton thence,
|
who rob'd we of my merchant ware:
|
And mickle debts God knows I owe,
|
and every Man doth crave his own;
|
And I am bound to London now,
|
of our gracious King to beg a boon.
|
Show me him, said Lord Howard then,
|
let me once the Villian see,
|
And e'ry penny he hath from thee ta'en,
|
I'll double the same with shillings three.
|
Now God forbid, the Merchant said,
|
I fear your aim that you will miss:
|
God bless you from his tyranny,
|
for li[t]tle you think what Man he is;
|
He is brass within and steel without,
|
his ship most huge and mighty strong,
|
With eighteen pieces of ordnance
|
he carrieth on each side along:
|
With beams for his top-castle,
|
as also being hugh and high,
|
That neither English nor Portugal
|
can Sir Andrew Barton pass by.
|
Hard news thou shew'st, then said the Lord,
|
to welcome Stranger to the sea:
|
But as I said, I'll bring him aboard,
|
or into Scotland he shall carry me.
|
The Merchant said, If you will do so,
|
take councel then, I pray withal,
|
Let no Man to his top castle go,
|
nor strive to let his beams down fall:
|
Lend me seven pieces of ordnance then
|
of each side of my ship, said he,
|
And tomorrow, my Lord,
|
again I will your Honour see:
|
A glass I set as may be seen,
|
whether you sail by day or night;
|
And tomorrow be sure before seven,
|
you shall see Sir Andrew Barton, Knight.
|
The Merchant set my Lord a glass
|
so well apparent in his sight,
|
That on the morrow as his promise was,
|
he saw Sir Andrew Barton, Knight.
|
The Lord then swore a mighty oath,
|
Now by the heavens that be of might,
|
By faith, believe me, and by troth,
|
I think he is a worthy Knight.
|
Sir Andrew Barton seeing him
|
thus scornfully to pass by,
|
As tho' he cared not a pin
|
for him and his company;
|
Then called he his Men amain,
|
Fetch back yon Pedlar now, quoth he,
|
And e're this way he comes again,
|
I'll teach him well his courtesie.
|
Fetch me my lyon out of hand,
|
saith the Lord, with rose and streamer high;
|
Set up withal a willow-wand,
|
that Merchantlike I may pass by.
|
Thus bravely did Lord Howard pass,
|
and on anchor rise so high;
|
No top-sail at last he cast,
|
but as a Foe did him defie.
|
A piece of ordnance soon was shot,
|
by this proud Pirate fiercely then,
|
Into Lord Howards middle deck,
|
which cruel shot kill'd fourteen Men.
|
He called then Peter Simon, he,
|
Look how thy word do stand instead,
|
For thou shalt be hanged on main-mast,
|
if th[o]u miss twelvescore one penny breath.
|
Then Peter Simon gave a shot,
|
which did Sir Andrew mickle scare,
|
In at his deck it came so hot,
|
kill'd fifteen of his Men of war:
|
Alas, then said the Pirate stout,
|
I am in danger, now I see;
|
This is some Lord, I greatly fear
|
that is set on to conquer me.
|
Then Henry Hunt with rigour hot
|
came bravely on the other side,
|
Who likewise shot in at his deck,
|
and killed fifty of his Men beside:
|
Then, Out, alas, Sir Andrew cry'd,
|
What may a Man now think or say,
|
Yon Merchant-thief that pierceth me,
|
he was my Prisoner yesterday.
|
Then did he on Gordion call,
|
unto the top-castle for to go,
|
And bid his beams he should let fall,
|
for he greatly fear'd an overthrow.
|
The Lord call'd Horsely now in haste,
|
Look that thy word stand instead,
|
For thou shalt be hanged on main-mast,
|
if thou miss twelvescore a shilling's breath.
|
Then up mast-tree swerved he,
|
this stout and mighty Gordian;
|
But Horsely he most happily
|
shot him under his collar-bone:
|
Then call'd he on his Nephew then,
|
sad, Sister's Sons I have no mo,
|
Three hundred pound I will give thee,
|
if thou wilt to top-castle go.
|
Then stoutly he began to climb,
|
from off the mast scorn'd to depart:
|
But Horsely soon prevented him,
|
and deadly pierc'd him to the heart.
|
His Men being slain, then up amain
|
did this proud Pirate climb with speed,
|
For armour of proof he had put on,
|
and did not dint of arrows dread:
|
Come hither, Horsely, said the Lord,
|
see thou thy arrows aim aright;
|
Great means to thee I will afford,
|
and if thou speedst, I'll make thee Knight.
|
Sir Andrew did climb up the tree,
|
with right goodwill and all his main;
|
Then upon the breast hit Horsely he,
|
till the arrow did return again:
|
Then Horsely 'spied a private place,
|
with a perfect eye in a secret part,
|
His arrow swiftly flew apace,
|
and smote Sir Andrew to the heart:
|
Fight on, fight on, my merry Men all,
|
a little I am hurt, yet not slain;
|
I'll but lie down and bleed awhile,
|
and come and fight you again:
|
And do not, said he, fear English Rogues,
|
and of y[o]ur Foes stand not in awe,
|
But stand fast by St. Andrews cross,
|
until you hear my whistle blow.
|
They never heard his whistle blow,
|
which made them all full sore afraid.
|
Then Horsely said, My Lord aboard,
|
for now Sir Andrew Bartons dead;
|
Thus boarded they this gallant ship,
|
with right goodwill and all their main,
|
Eighteenscore Scots alive in it,
|
besides as many more was slain.
|
The Lord went where Sir Andrew lay,
|
and quickly thence cut off his head;
|
I should forsake England many a day,
|
if thou wert alive as thou art dead.
|
Thus from the wars Lord Howard came,
|
with mickle joy and triumphing;
|
The Pirate's head he brought along
|
for to present unto our King:
|
Who briefly unto him did say,
|
before he knew well what was done,
|
Where is the Knight and Pirate gay,
|
that I myself may give the doom?
|
You may thank God, then said the Lord,
|
and four Men in the ship, quoth he,
|
That we are safely come ashore,
|
sith you never had such an Enemy:
|
That is, Henry Hunt, and Peter Simon,
|
William Horsely and Peters Son;
|
Therefore reward them for their pains,
|
for they did service at their turn.
|
To the Merchant therefore the King he said,
|
In lieu of what he hath from thee tane,
|
I give to thee a noble a day;
|
Sir Andrews whistle and his chain:
|
To Peter Simon a crown a day;
|
and half a crown a day to Peters Son;
|
And that was for a shot so gay,
|
which bravely brought Sir Andrew down:
|
Horsely, I will make thee a Knight,
|
and in Yorkshire thou shalt dwell:
|
Lord Howard shall Earl Bury hight,
|
for this act he deserveth well:
|
Ninety pound to our English Men,
|
who in this fight did stoutly stand;
|
And twelve pence a Day to the Scots till they
|
come to my Brother King's high Land.
|
|
|
|
|
|