Sir Andrew Barton

As itt beffell in Midsumer time
When burds singe sweetlye on euery tree,

Our noble King, King Henery the eighth,
Ouer the riuer of Thames past hee.

Hee was no sooner ouer the riuer,
Downe in a fforrest to take the ayre,
But eighty merchants of London cittye
Came kneeling before King Henery there.

O yee are welcome, rich merchants,
[Good saylors, welcome unto me.]
They swore by the rood they were saylers good
But rich merchants they cold not bee.

To France nor Flanders dare we nott passe
Nor Burdeaux voyage wee dare not ffare,
And all ffor a ffalse robber that lyes on the seas
And robb[s] vs of our merchants ware.

King Henery was stout, and he turned him about
And swore by the Lord that was mickle of might:
I thought he had not beene in the world throughout
That durst haue wrought England such vnright.

But euer they sighed and said alas
Vnto King Harry this answere againe:
He is a proud Scott that will robb vs all
If wee were twenty shipps and hee but one.

The King looket ouer his left shoulder
Amongst his Lords and Barrons soe ffree:
Haue I neuer Lord in all my realme
Will ffeitch yond traitor vnto mee?

Yes, that dare I, sayes my Lord Chareles Howard,
Neere to the King wheras hee did stand:
If that your grace will giue me leaue
My selfe wilbe the only man.

Thou shalt haue six hundred men, saith our King,
And chuse them out of my realme soe ffree;
Besids Marriners and boyes
To guide the great shipp on the sea.

Ile goe speake with Sir Andrew, sais Charles my Lord Haward,
Upon the sea, if hee be there;
I will bring him and his shipp to shore
Or before my prince I will neuer come neere.

The ffirst of all my Lord did call,
A noble gunner hee was one;
This man was sixty yeeres and ten
And Peeter Simon was his name.

Peeter, sais hee, I must sayle to the sea
To seeke out an enemye; God be my speed:
Before all others I haue chosen thee,
Of a hundred guners thoust be my head.

My Lord, sais hee, if you haue chosen mee
Of a hundred gunners to be the head,
Hange me att your maine-mast tree
If I misse my marke past three pence bread.

The next of all my Lord he did call,
A noble bowman hee was one;
In Yorekeshire was this gentleman borne,
And William Horsley was his name.

Horsley, sayes hee, I must sayle to the sea
To seeke out an enemye; God be my speede:
Before all others I haue chosen thee,
Of a hundred boweman thoust be my head.

My Lord, sais hee, if you haue chosen mee
Of a hundred bowemen to be the head,
Hang me att your mainemast tree
If I misse my marke past twelue pence bread.

With pikes, and gunnes, and bowemen bold
This Noble Howard is gone to the sea
On the day before Midsummer euen,
And out att Thames mouth sayled they.

They had not sayled dayes three
Upon their Iourney they tooke in hand,
But there they mett with a noble shipp
And stoutely made itt both stay and stand.

Thou must tell me thy name, sais Charles my Lord Haward,
Or who thou art, or ffrom whence thou came,
Yea, and where thy dwelling is,
To whom and where thy shipp does belong.

My name, sayes hee, is Henery Hunt,
With a pure hart and a penitent mind;
I and my shipp they doe belong
Vnto the New castle that stands vpon Tine.

Now thou must tell me, Harry Hunt,
As thou hast sayled by day and by night,
Hast thou not heard of a stout robber?
Men calls him Sir Andrew Bartton, Knight.

But euer he sighed and sayd Alas,
Full well, my Lord, I know that wight:
He robd me of my merchants ware
And I was his prisoner but yesternight.

As I was sayling vppon the sea,
And Burdeaux voyage as I did ffare,
He clasped me to his archborde
And robd me of all my merchants ware;

And I am a man both poore and bare,
And euery man will haue his owne of me,
And I am bound towards London to ffare,
To complaine to my Prince Henerye.

That shall not need, sais my Lord Haward,
If thou canst lett me this robber see;
For euery peny he hath taken thee ffroe
Thou shalt be rewarded a shilling, quoth hee.

Now God ffore-fend, saies Henery Hunt,
My Lord, you shold worke soe farr amisse;
God keepe you out of that Traitors hands,
For you wott ffull litle what a man hee is.

Hee is brasse within, and steele without,
And beanes hee beares in his topcastle stronge;
His shipp hath ordinance cleane round about;
Besids, my Lord, hee is verry well mand.

He hath a pinnace is deerlye dight,
Saint Andrews crosse, that is his guide;
His pinnace beares nine score men and more
Besids fifteen cannons on euery side.

If you were twenty shippes, and he but one,
Either in charke-bord or in hall,
He wold ouercome you euerye one
And if his beanes they doe downe fall.

This is cold comfort, sais my Lord Haward,
To wellcome a stranger thus to the sea;
Ile bring him and his shipp to shore
Or else into Scottland hee shall carrye mee.

Then you must gett a noble gunner, my Lord,
That can sett well with his eye
And sinke his pinnace into the sea,
And soone then ouercome will hee bee.

And when that you haue done this,
If you chance Sir Andrew for to bord,
Lett no man to his topcastle goe;
And I will giue you a glasse, my Lord,

And then you need to [feare] no Scott
Whether you sayle by day or by night;
And to-morrow by seuen of the clocke
You shall meete with Sir Andrew Bartton, Knight.

I was his prisoner but yester night
And he hath taken mee sworne, quoth hee;
I trust my Lord God will me forgiue
And if that oath then broken bee.

You must lend me sixe peeces, my Lord, quoth hee,
Into my shipp to sayle the sea,
And to-morrow by nine of the clocke
Your honour againe then will I see.

And the hache-bord where Sir Andrew lay
Is hached with gold deerlye dight;
Now by my ffaith, sais Charles my Lord Haward,
Then yonder Scott is a worthye wight!

Take in your ancyents and your standards,
Yea, that no man shall them see,
And put me fforth a white willow wand
As Merchants vse to sayle the sea.

But they stirred neither top nor mast
But Sir Andrew they passed by.
Whatt English are yonder, said Sir Andrew,
That can so litle curtesye?

I haue beene Admirall ouer the sea
More then these yeeres three;
There is neuer an English dog nor Portingall
Can passe this way without leaue of mee.

But now yonder pedlers they are past,
Which is no litle greffe to me;
Feich them backe, sayes Sir Andrew Bartton,
They shall all hang att my maine-mast tree.

With that the pinnace itt shott of,
That my Lord Haward might itt well ken,
Itt stroke downe my Lords fforemast
And killed fourteen of my Lord his men.

Come hither, Simon, sayes my Lord Haward,
Looke that thy words be true thou sayd;
Ile hang thee att my maine-mast tree
If thou miss thy marke past twelue pence bread.

Simon was old, but his hart itt was bold,
Hee tooke downe a peece and layd itt ffull lowe;
He put in chaine yeards nine
Besids other great shott lesse and more.

With that he lett his gun shott goe;
Soe well hee settled itt with his eye
The ffirst sight that Sir Andrew sawe
Hee see his pinnace sunke in the sea.

When hee saw his pin[n]ace sunke
Lord, in his hart hee was not well:
Cutt my ropes, it is time to be gon;
Ile goe ffeitch yond pedlers backe my selfe!

When my Lord Haward saw Sir Andrew loose
Lord, in his hart that hee was ffaine:

Strike on your drummes, spread out your ancyents!
Sound out your trumpetts, sound out amaine!

Fight on, my men, sais Sir Andrew Bartton,
Weate, howsoeuer this geere will sway,
Itt is my Lord Adm[i]rall of England
Is come to seeke mee on the sea.

Simon had a sonne, with shott of a gunn
(Well Sir Andrew might itt ken),
He shott itt in att a priuye place
And killed sixty more of Sir Andrews men.

Harry Hunt came in att the other syde
And att Sir Andrew hee shott then;
He droue downe his fformost tree
And killed eighty more of Sir Andirwes men.

I haue done a good turne, sayes Harry Hunt,
Sir Andrew is not our Kings ffreind;
He hoped to haue vndone me yesternight
But I hope I haue quitt him well in the end.

Euer alas, sayd Sir Andrew Barton,
What shold a man either thinke or say?
Yonder ffalse theeffe is my strongest Enemye
Who was my prisoner but yesterday.

Come hither to me, thou Gourden good,
And be thou readye att my call;
And I will giue thee three hundred pound
If thou wilt lett my beanes downe ffall.

With that hee swarued the maine-mast tree,
Soe did he itt with might and maine:
Horseley with a bearing arrow
Stroke the Gourden through the braine;

And he ffell into the haches againe
And sore of this wound that he did bleed;
Then word went throug[h] Sir Andrews men
That the Gourden hee was dead.

Come hither to me, James Hambliton,
Thou art my sisters sonne, I haue no more;
I Will giue [thee] six hundred pound
If thou will lett my beanes downe ffall.

With that he swarued the maine-mast tree,
Soe did hee itt with might and maine:
Horseley with an-other broad Arrow
Strake the yeaman through the braine,

That hee ffell downe to the haches againe,
Sore of his wound that hee did bleed.
Itt is verry true, as the Welchman sayd,
Couetousness getts no gaine.

But when hee saw his sisters sonne slaine
Lord, in his heart hee was not well:
Goe ffeitch me downe my armour of proue
For I will to the topcastle my-selfe.

Goe ffeitch me downe my armour of prooffe
For itt is guilded 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,
Euery man that looked att him
Sayd, Gunn nor arrow hee neede ffeare 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.

Ile doe my best, sayes Horslay then,
Your honour shall see beffore I goe;
If I shold be hanged att your mainemast,
I haue 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.

Fight on, my men, sayes Sir Andrew Bartton,
I am hurt but I am not slaine;
Ile lay mee downe and bleed a-while
And then Ile rise and ffight againe.

Fight on, my men, sayes Sir Andrew Bartton,
These English doggs they bite soe lowe;

Fight on for Scottland and Saint Andrew
Till you heare my whistle blowe.

But when they cold not heare his whistle blow
Sayes Harry Hunt, Ile 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 aliue,
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 neuer a word durst speake or say.

He caused his body to be taken downe
And ouer the hatch-bord cast into the sea,
And about his middle three hundred crownes:
Wheresoeuer thou lands, itt will bury thee.

With his head they sayled into England againe
With right good will, and fforce and m[aine]
And the day beffore Newyeeres euen
And into Thames mouth againe they came.

My Lord Haward wrote to King Heneryes grace
With all the newes hee cold him bring:
Such a newyeeres gifft I haue brought to your grace
As neuer did subiect to any King.

For Merchandyes and Manhood
The like is nott to be ffound;
The sight of these wold doe you good
For you haue not the like in your English ground.

But when hee heard tell that they were come
Full royally hee welcomed them home:
Sir Andrews shipp was the Kings Newyeeres guifft,
A brauer shipp you neuer saw none.

Now hath England Sir Andrews shipp
Besett with pearles and precyous stones;
Now hath England two shipps of war,
Two shipps of warr, before but one.

Who holpe to this? sayes King Henerye,
That I may reward him ffor his paine.
Harry Hunt and Peter Simon,
William Horseleay, and I the same.

Harry Hunt shall haue his whistle and chaine
And all his Iewells, whatsoeuer they bee,
And other rich giffts that I will not name,
For his good service he hath done mee.

Horslay, right thoust be a Knight,
Lands and liuings thou shalt haue store.
Howard shalbe Erle of Nottingham,
And soe was neuer Haward before.

Now Peeter Simon, thou art old,
I will maintaine thee and thy sonne;
Thou shalt haue fiue hundred pound all in gold
For the good service that thou hast done.

Then King Henerye shiffted his roome,
In came the Queene and ladyes bright;
Other arrands they had none
But to see Sir Andrew Bartton, Knight.

But when they see his deadly fface,
His eyes were hollow in his head,
I wold giue a hundred pound, sais King Henerye,
The man were aliue as hee is dead:

Yett ffor the manfull part that hee hath playd
Both heere and beyond the sea
His men shall haue halfe a crowne a day
To bring them to my brother King Iamye.
Rate this poem: 


No reviews yet.