P. 338 b. Gold to bury body. So in the story of Buridan and
the Queen of France, Haupt's Zeitschrift II, 364. (G.L.K.)
In Apollonius of Tyre: puellam in loculo conposuit ... et
uiginti sestertios ad caput ipsius posuit, et scripturam sic
continentem: Quicumque corpus istud inuenerit et humo tradiderit
medios sibi teneat, medios pro funere expendat; et misit in mare.
C. 25, ed. Riese, p. 29. Cf. Jourdains de Blaivies, 2222-33, K.
Hofmann, Amis et Amiles und Jourdains de Blaivies, 1882, p. 168
f. (P.Z. Round.)
'The Sonnge of Sir Andraye Barton, Knight,' English
Miscellanies, edited by James Raine, Surtees Society, vol. lxxxv,
p. 64, 1890; from a Manuscript in a hand of the sixteenth century
now in York Minster Library.
This very interesting version of Sir Andrew Barton, the editor
informs us, was originally No 25 of a ballad-book in small
quarto. It came recently "into the possession of the Dean and
Chapter of York with a number of papers which belonged in the
seventeenth century to the episcopal families of Lamplugh and
Davenant." If, as is altogether probable, there were copies of
other ballads in the same book in quality as good as this, and
if, as is equally probable, no more of the book can be recovered,
our only comfort is the cold one of having had losses. In several
details this copy differs from that of the Percy Manuscript, but
not more than would be expected. The English sail out of the
Thames on the morrow after midsummer month, July 1, and come back
the night before St. Maudlen's eve, or the night of July 20,
stanzas 17, 74. In stanza 42 Barton boasts that he had once sent
thirty Portingail heads home salted — 'to eat with bread'!
We read in Lesley's History that the Hollanders had taken and
spoiled divers Scots ships, and had cruelly murdered and cast
overboard the merchants and passengers; in revenge for which
Andrew Barton took many ships of that country, and filled certain
pipes with the heads of the Hollanders and sent them to the
Scottish king. (Ed. 1830, p. 74; ed. 1578, p. 329.) The eating is
a ferocious addition of the ballad. Several passages of this copy
are corrupted. A throws light upon some of these places,
but others remain to me unamendable.
| 1 |
It fell against a midsomer moneth,
When birds soonge well in every tree,
Our worthë prence, Kinge Henrye,
He roode untoe a chelvellrye. |
| 2 |
And allsoe toe a forrest soe faire,
Wher his Grace wente toe tak the ayre;
And twentye marchantes of London citie
Then on there knees they kneelled there. |
| 3 |
'Ye are welcome home, my rich merchantes,
The best salers in Christentie!'
'We thanke yowe; by the rood, we are salers good,
But rich merchantes we cannot be. |
| 4 |
'To France nor Flanders we der not goe,
Nor a Burgesse voy[a]ge we der not fare,
For a robber that lyes abrod on the sea,
And robs us of oure merchantes-ware.' |
| 5 |
King Henry was stout, and turnd hime about;
He sware by the lord that was mickell of might,
'Is ther any rober in the world soe stoute
Der worke toe England that unrighte?' |
| 6 |
The merchantes answered, soore they sight,
With a woefull harte to the kinge againe,
'He is one that robes us of our right,
Were we twentie shippes and he but one.' |
| 7 |
King Henrye lookte over his shoulder agayne,
Amongst his lordes of hye degree:
'Have I not a lord in all my land soe stoute
Der take yon robber upon the sea?' |
| 8 |
'Yes,' then did answeer my lord Charls Howwarde,
Neare the kinge's grace that he did stande;
He saide, If your Grace will give me leave,
My selfe will be the onlie man, |
| 9 |
'That will goe beat Sir Andrewe Barton
Upon the seas, if he be there;
I'le ether bringe hime and his shippe toe this lande,
Ore I'le come in England never more.' |
| 10 |
'Yow shall have five hundrethe men,' saide Kinge Henrye,
'Chuse them within my realme soe free,
Beside all other merriners and boys,
Toe gide the great shippe on the sea.' |
| 11 |
The first of all the lord up cald,
A noble gunner he was one;
This man was thre score yeares and ten,
And Petter Symond height his name. |
| 12 |
'Petter,' quoeth he, 'I must saill the sea,
Toe looke an enemye, God be my speede!
As thowe arte ould, I have chossen the
Of a hundreth gunners to be the headde.' |
| 13 |
He said, If your Honor have chossen me
Of a hundreth gunners to be the headd,
On your mayn-mast-tre let me be hangd,
If I miss thre mille a penny e breed. |
| 14 |
Then next of all my lord up cald,
A noble boweman he was ane;
In Yorkeshier was this gentleman borne,
And William Horsley height his name. |
| 15 |
'Horsley,' saide he, 'I must saill the sea,
To meete an enemee, thow must knowe;
I have oft [been] told of thy artillorye,
But of thy shootinge I never sawe. |
| 16 |
'Yet fore thye drawght that thowe dost drawe,
Of a hundreth bowemen to be the heade;'
Said Horsley then, Let me be hang[d]e,
If I mis twelve score a twelt penc[e] breed. |
| 17 |
Yea, pickmen more, and bowmen both,
This worthë Howward tooke to the sea;
On the morowe after midsomer moneth
Out of Temes mouth sallied he. |
| 18 |
Hee had not sailled one daie but three,
After his Honor tooke to the sea,
When he mette with one Harrie Huntte,
In Newcastell ther dwelte hee. |
| 19 |
When he sawe the lion of England out blaisse,
The streemers and the roose about his eye,
Full soonne he let his toppe-saill fall;
That was a tooken of curtissie. |
| 20 |
My lord he cald of Henry Huntte,
Bad Harry Hunt both stay and stande;
Saies, Tell me where thy dwellinge is,
And whome unto thye shippe belonnges. |
| 21 |
Henrye Hunt he answered, sore he sight,
With a woefull hart and a sorrowefull minde,
'I and this shippe doth both belonge
Unto the Newe Castell that stands upon Tyne.' |
| 22 |
'But haist thowe harde,' said my lord Charles Hawward,
'Wher thowe haist travelled, by daie or by night,
Of a robber that lies abroode on the sea,
They call him Sir Andrewe Barton, knight?' |
| 23 |
'Yes,' Harye answered, sore he sight,
With a woefull hart thus did he saye;
'Mary, over well I knowe that wight,
I was his pressoner yesterdaie. |
| 24 |
'Toe frome home, my lord, that I was boune,
A Burgess voyage was boune so faire,
Sir Andrewe Barton met with me,
And robd me of mye merchantes-waire. |
| 25 |
'And I ame a man in mickle debte,
And everye one craves his owne of mee;
And I am boune to London, my lorde,
Fore toe comepleanne to good King Henrye.' |
| 26 |
'But even I pray the,' saies Lord Charlies Howeerd,
'Henrye, let me that robber see,
Where that Scoott hath teyne from the a grootte,
I'le paye the back a shillinge,' said hee. |
| 27 |
'Nay, God forbid! yea, noble lord,
I heare your Honor speake amisse;
Christ keepe yowe out of his companye!
Ye wott not what kine a man he is. |
| 28 |
'He is brase within and steelle without,
He beares beames in his topcastle hye,
He hath threscore peece on ether side,
Besides, my lorde, well mande is he. |
| 29 |
'He hath a pennis is dearelye deighte,
She is dearelye deighte and of mickell pried;
His pennis hath ninescorre men and more,
And thirtene peece on ethere side. |
| 30 |
'Were yowe twentie shippes
As your Honor is but one.
Ethere bye lerbord or by lowe
That Scootte would overcome yowe, everye one.' |
| 31 |
'Marye, that's ill hartinge,' saies my lord Charlls Howeward,
'Harye, to welcome a stranger to the sea;
I'le ether bringe thatt Scootte and his shippe toe England,
Or into Scootteland hee ['s] carrye me.' |
| 32 |
'Well, since the matter is soe flatte,
Take heed, I'le tell yowe this before;
If yowe Sir Andrewe chance toe horde,
Let noe man toe his topcastle goe. |
| 33 |
'Excepte yowe have a gunner goode
That can well marke with his eye;
First seeke to gette his pennis sunk,
The soonner overcome his selfe may bee. |
| 34 |
'Yesterdaie I was Sir Andrewe's pressonner,
And ther he tooke me sworne,' saide hee;
'Before I'le leave off my serving God,
My wild-maide oeth may brooken be. |
| 35 |
'Will yowe lend me sexe peece of ordenance, my lord,
To carye into my shippe with mee?
Toe morrowe by seven a clocke, and souner,
In the morne yowe shall Sir Andrewe see. |
| 36 |
'Fore I will set yowe a glasse, my lord,
That yowe shall saille forth all this night;
Toe morrowe be seven a clocke, and souner,
Yow's se Sir Andrewe Barton, knight.' |
| 37 |
Nowe will we leave talkinge of Harry Hunt;
The worthye Howwarde tooke to the sea;
By the morne, by seven a clocke, and souner,
My lord hee did Sir Andrewe see. |
| 38 |
A larborde, wher Sir Andrewe laye,
They saide he tould his gold in the light;
'Nowe, by my faith,' saide my lord Charlies Howwarde,
'I se yonne Scootte, a worthë wight!
|
| 39 |
'All our greatt ordienance wee'll take in;
Fetch downe my streemers,' then saide hee,
'And hange me forth a white willowe-wande,
As a marchante-man that sailles by the sea.' |
| 40 |
By Sir Andrewe then mye lord he past,
And noe topsaille let fall would hee:
'What meanes yonne English dogg?' he saies,
'Dogs doe knowe noe curtissie. |
| 41 |
'For I have staid heare in this place
Admirall more then yearës three;
Yet was not ther Englisheman or Portingaill
Could passe by me with his liffe,' saide he. |
| 42 |
'Once I met with the Portingaills,
Yea, I met with them, ye, I indeed;
I salted thirtie of ther heades,
And sent them home to eate with breade. |
| 43 |
'Nowe by me is yoen pedler past;
It greves me at the hart,' said hee;
'Fetch me yoen English dogs,' he saide,
'I'le hange them al on my mayn-mast-tree.' |
| 44 |
Then his pennis shotte of a peec[e] of ordenance;
The shootte my lord might verye well ken,
Fore he shootte downe his missonne-mast,
And kild fifteen of my lordë's men. |
| 45 |
'Come hether, Peter Simond,' said my lord Charles Howward,
'Letes se thi word standis in steede;
On my mayn-mast-tre thowe must be hunge,
If thowe misse three mill a penney breed.' |
| 46 |
Petter was ould, bis hart was bould;
He tooke a peece frome hie and laid hir beloue;
He put in a chean of yeard[ë]s nine,
Besides all other greate shoote and smalle. |
| 47 |
And as he maide that gune to goe,
And verye well he marke[d] with his eie,
The first sight that Sir Andrewe sawe,
He sawe his penis sunke in the sea. |
| 48 |
When Sir Andrewe sawe his pennis sunke,
That man in his hart was no thinge well:
'Cut me my cabells! let me be lousse!
I'le fetch yoen English dogges me seine.' |
| 49 |
When my lord sawe Sir Andrewe from his anker loouse,
Nay, Lord! a mighty man was hee:
'Let my drumes strike up and my trumpetes sound,
And blaise my banners vailliantlie.' |
| 50 |
Peter Simon's sonne shoote of a gune;
That Sir Andrewe might very well ken;
Fore he shoott throughe his over-decke,
And kild fifttie of Sir Andrewe's men. |
| 51 |
'Ever alack!' said Sir Andrewe Barton,
'I like not of this geare,' saide hee;
'I doubt this is some English lorde
That's corned to taik me on the sea.' |
| 52 |
Harrye Hunt came in on the other side;
The shoote Sir Andrewe might very well ken;
Fore he shoote downe his misson-mast,
And kild other fortye of his men. |
| 53 |
'Ever alacke!' said Sir Andrewe Barton,
'What maye a trewe man thinke or saye?
He is becomed my greatest enymye
That was my pressonner yesterdaie. |
| 54 |
'Yet feare no English dogges,' said Sir Andrew Barton,
'Nor fore ther forse stand ye [in] no awe;
My hands shall hange them all my selfe,
Froe once I let my beames downe fawe. |
| 55 |
'Come hether quick, thou Girdon goode,
And come thou hether at my call,
Fore heare I may noe longer staye;
Goe up and let my beames down fall.' |
| 56 |
Then he swarmd up the maine-mast-tree,
With mickell might and all his maine;
Then Horsley with a broode-headed arrowe
Stroke then Girdon throughe the weame. |
| 57 |
And he fell backe to the hatches againe,
And in that wound full sore did bleed;
The blood that ran soe fast from hime,
They said it was the Girdon's deed. |
| 58 |
'Come hether, thow James Hamelton,
Thowe my sister's sonne, I have noe moe;
I'le give the five hundreth pound,' he saide,
'Ife thowe wilt toe the top[ca]saille goe.' |
| 59 |
Then he swarmd up the mayn-mast-tree,
With mickell might and all his may ne;
Then Horsley with a broode-arrowe-head
Tooke hime in at the buttuke of the utuer beame. |
| 60 |
Yet frome the tre he would not parte,
But up in haist he did pressed;
Then Horsley with anotheir arrowe
Strooke then Hamelton throughe the heade. |
| 61 |
When Sir Andrewe sawe his sister's sonne slayne,
That man in his heart was nothinge well:
'Fight, maisters!' said Sir Andrewe Barton,
'It's time I'le to the top myselne.' |
| 62 |
Then he put on the armere of prooffe,
And it was guilt with gold full cleare:
'My brother John of Barton,' he saide,
'Full longe against Portingaill he it weare.' |
| 63 |
When he had on that armore of prooffe,
Yea, on his bodye he had that on,
Marry, they that sawe Sir Andrewe Barton
Said arrowes nor guns he feared none. |
| 64 |
Yet Horsley drewe a broode-headed arrowe,
With mickell might and all his mayne;
That shaft against Sir Andrewe's brest
Came back to my lord Howwarde's shippe agayne. |
| 65 |
When my lord he sawe that arrowe comme,
My lord he was a woefull wight;
'Marke well thine ame, Horsley,' he saide,
'Fore that same shoote I'le make the knight.' |
| 66 |
'Ever alacke!' said Horsley then,
'For howe soe ever this geare doth goe,
If I for my service louse my heade,
I have in this shippe but arrowe[s] towe.' |
| 67 |
Yet he mar[k]t hime with the one of them,
In a previe place and a secrete pert;
He shoote hime in at the left oxtere,
The arrowe quiett throughe [the] harte. |
| 68 |
'Feight, maisters!' said Sir Andrewe Barton,
'I'se a lettle hurt, but I ame not slayne;
I'le lie me downe and bleede a whill,
I'le risse and feight with yowe agayne. |
| 69 |
'Yet feare noe English dogges,' said Sir Andrewe Barton,
'Nore fore there force stand ye [in] noe awe;
Stick stifeley to Sir Andrewe Barton,
Feight till ye heare my whisstill blowe.' |
| 70 |
The could noe skill of the whisstill heare;
Quoeth Hary Hunt, I der lay my heade,
My lord, yowe maye take the shippe when yowe will,
I se Sir Andrewe Barton ['s] deade. |
| 71 |
And then they borded that noble shippe,
On both the sides, with all ther men;
Ther was eighten [score] Scootes a live,
Besides all other was hurte and slayne. |
| 72 |
Then up my lord tooke Sir Andrewe Barton,
And of he cutt the dead man's head:
'I would forsweare England for twenty years,
Toe have the quicke as thowe art deade. |
| 73 |
But of he cut the dead man's heade,
And bounde his bodye toe borden tre,
And tiede five hundreth angels about his midle,
That was toe cause hime buried toe bee. |
| 74 |
Then they sailled toe Ingland agayne,
With mickle merienes, as I weane;
They entred Englishe land agayn
On the night before Ste Maudlen even. |
| 75 |
Toe mete my lord came the kinge an quen,
And many nobles of hie degree;
They came fore noe kind of thinge
But Sir Andrewe Barton they would see. |
| 76 |
Quoth my lord, Yowe may thanke Allmighty God,
And foure men in the shippe with mee,
That ever we scaipt Sir Andrewe['s] hands;
England had never such an enniemie. |
| 77 |
'That's Henrye Hunt and Petter Symon,
William Horsley and Petter Symon['s] sonne;
Reward all thoesse fore there paynes,
They did good service att that time.' |
| 78 |
'Henry Hunt shall have his whistle and chean,
A noble a daie I'le give him,' quoeth hee,
'And his coustome betwexte Trent tid and Tyne,
Soe longe as he doth use the sea. |
| 79 |
'Petter Symon shall have a crowne a daie,
Halfe a crowne I'le give his sonne;
That was fore a shoott he sente
Sir Andrew Barton with his gune. |
| 80 |
'Horsley, right I'le make the a knight,
In Yorkshiere shall thy dwellinge be;
My lord Charlies Howwarde shall be an earle,
And soe was never Howward before,' quoth he. |
| 81 |
'Everye Englishe man shall have eightten pens a daie
That did mainetayne [t]his f eight soe free,
And everye Scotchman a shillinge a daie
Till they come atte my brother Jamie.' |
