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SIR ANDREW BARTON
' I have beene admirall over the sea
More then these yeeres three ; There is never an English dog, nor Portingall,
Can passe this way without leave of mee.
' But now yonder pedlers, they are past,
Which is no little greffe to me : Ffeitch 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;
I'le hang thee att my maine-mast tree If thou misse thy marke past twelve pence bread.'
Simon was old, but his hart itt was bold ;
Hee tooke downe a peece, and layd itt full lowe; He put in chaine yards nine,
Besids other great shott lesse and more.
With that hee lett his gun-shott goe;
Soe hee well settled itt with his eye, ' The first sight that Sir Andrew sawe,
Hee see his pinnace sunke in the sea.
When hee saw his pinace sunke,
Lord! in his hart hee was not well: ' Cutt my ropes ! itt is time to be gon !
I'le 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 d'rummes ! spread out your ancyents !
Sound out your trumpetts ! sound out amaine!'
' Fight on, my men !' sais Sir Andrew Bartton ;
' Weate, howsoever this geere will sway, Itt is my lord Adm[i]rall of England
Is come to seeke mee on the sea.'