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SIR ANDREW BARTON |
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LXI
'I 'le do my best,' sayes Horsley then, ' Your Honour shall see before I goe;
If I sho'ld be hang'd at your maine-mast tree, I have in my ship but arrows two.'
LXII
But at Sir Andrew he shot then;
He made so sure to hit his mark; Under the spole of his right arme
He smote Sir Andrew quite thro' the heart.
LXIII
Yet from the tree he wo'ld not start,
But he cling'd to it with might and main;
Under the collar then of his jacke,
He stroke Sir Andrew thoro' the brain.
LXIV
' Fight on, my men ! ' says Sir Andrew Barton,
' I am hurt, but I am not slain ; I'le lay me downe and bleed a-while,
And then 1'le rise and fight again.
LXV
' Fight on, my men ! ' says Sir Andrew Barton, ' These English dogs they bite so lowe;
Fight on for Scotland and Saint Andrew While that you hear my whistle blowe ! '
LXVI
But when they co'ld not hear his whistle, Says Henery Hunt, ' I'le lay my head
You may board yonder noble ship, my lord, For I know Sir Andrew he is dead.'
spole] shoulder, epatde. jacke] jacket, short coat of mail. 694 |
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