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A glass I'll set, that may be seen,
Whether you sail by day or night ;
You shall meet with Sir Andrew Barton, knight.
T HE merchant set my lord a glass
So well apparent in his sight,
He showed him Sir Andrew Barton, knight. His hatchbord it was gilt with gold,
So dearly dight it dazzled the ee : Now by my faith, lord Howard says,
This is a gallant sight to see.
Take in your ancients,* standards eke,
So close that no man may them see; And put me forth a white willow wand,
As merchants use to sail the sea.
But they stirred neither top, nor mast ; *
Stoutly they passed Sir Andrew by. What English churls are yonder, he said,
That can so little courtesy ?
Now by the rood, three years and more,
I have been admiral over the sea; And never an English nor Portingall †
Without my leave can pass this way.
Fetch back yon pedlars now to me :
Shall all hang at my main-mast tree.
With that the pinnace it shot off,
Full well lord Howard might it ken; For it stroke down my lord's fore mast,
And killed fourteen of his men. Come hither, Simon, says my lord,
Look that thy word be true, thou said; For at my main-mast thou shalt hang,
If thou miss thy mark one shilling bread. Simon was old, but his heart it was bold,
* i.e. Did not salute.
His ordinance he laid right low; He put in chain full nine yards long,
With other great shot less, and moe; And he let go his great gun's shot :
So well he settled it with his ee, The first sight that Sir Andrew saw,
He saw his pinnace sunk in the sea.
And when he saw his pinnace sunk,
Lord, how his heart with rage did swell ! Now cut my ropes, it is time to be gone;
I'll fetch yon pedlars back mysel. When my lord saw Sir Andrew loose,
Within his heart he was full fain : Now spread your ancients, strike up drums,
Sound all your trumpets out amain.
Fight on, my men, Sir Andrew says,
Well howsoever this gear will sway ;* It is my lord admiral of England,
Is come to seek me on the sea.
* However this affair will end.
Simon had a son, who shot right well,
That did Sir Andrew mickle scare; In at his deck he gave a shot,
Killed threescore of his men of war.
Then Henry Hunt with rigour hot
Came bravely on the other side,
And killed fourscore men beside.
What may a man now think, or say ? Yonder merchant thief, that pierceth me,
He was my prisoner yesterday.
Come hither to me, thou Gordon good,
That aye wast ready at my call ;
If thou wilt let my beams down fall.
Horseley see thou be true instead; For thou shalt at the main-mast hang,
If thou miss, twelvescore, one penny bread.