66 Fight on, my men," Sir Andrewe sais, 66 Weale, howsoever this geere will sway; 22 Is come to seeke mee on the sea.' 50 In att his decke he gave a shott, 55 Killed threescore of his men of warre. Then Henrye Hunt, with rigour hott, Came bravely on the other side; Soone he drove downe his fore-mast tree, 66 Nowe, out alas !" Sir Andrewe cryed, "What may a man now thinke or say? "Come hither to me, thou Gordon good, 66 60 65 Horseley see thou be true in stead; 70 If thou misse twelvescore one penny bread." Then word went through Sir Andrews men, 80 "Come hither to mee, James Hambilton, Six hundred nobles thou hast wonne." V. 67, 84, pounds. MS. V. 75, bearinge, sc. that carries well, &c. But see Gloss. With that he swarved the maine-mast tree, 85 Pierced the Hambilton thorough the heart. And downe he fell upon the deck, That with his blood did streame amaine; 90 All woe begone was Sir Andrew then, With griefe and rage his heart did swell; "Go fetch me forth my armour of proofe, For I will to the topcastle mysell. "Goe fetch me forth my armour of proofe; Ah! nere didst thou meet with living wight, "Come hither, Horseley," sayes my lord, "And looke your shaft that itt goe right; Shoot a good shoote in time of need, 95 100 105 And for it thou shalt be made a knight.” "Ile shoot my best," quoth Horseley then, "Your honour shall see, with might and maine; But if I were hanged at your maine-mast, 111 I have now left but arrowes twaine." Sir Andrew he did swarve the tree, Upon his breast did Horseley hitt, But the arrow bounded back agen. Then Horseley spyed a privye place, Under the spole of his right arme With a perfect eye, in a secrette part; He smote Sir Andrew to the heart. 115 120 Fight on, my men," Sir Andrew sayes, "A little Ime hurt, but yett not slaine; Ile but lye downe and bleede a while, And then Ile rise and fight againe. Fight on, my men," Sir Andrew sayes, "And never flinche before the foe; And stand fast by St. Andrewes crosse, Untill you hear my whistle blowe." 125 They never heard his whistle blow, Which made their hearts waxe sore adread: 130 Then Horseley sayd, "Aboard, my lord, For well I wott Sir Andrew's dead." They boarded then his noble shipp, They boarded it with might and maine; Eighteen score Scots alive they found, The rest were either maimed or slaine. 135 Lord Howard tooke a sword in hand, And off he smote Sir Andrewes head; "I must have left England many a daye, If thou wert alive as thou art dead." 140 He caused his body to be cast Over the hatchbord into the sea, And about his middle three hundred crownes: "Wherever thou land this will bury thee." "Such a noble prize have I brought to Your Grace King Henryes grace with royall cheere "And where," said he "is this rover stout, That I myselfe may give the doome ?" 160 "The rover, he is safe, my leige, Full many a fadom in the sea; If he were alive as he is dead, I must have left England many a day. And Your Grace may thank four men i' the ship 165 For the victory wee have wonne; These are William Horseley, Henry Hunt, And Peter Simon, and his sonne." "To Henry Hunt," the king then sayd, "In lieu of what was from thee tane, 170 A noble a day now thou shalt have, Sir Andrewes jewels and his chayne. And Horseley thou shalt be a knight, And lands and livings shalt have store; Howard shall be Erle Surrye hight, 175 Then in came the queene with ladyes fair They weend that hee were brought on shore, But when they see his deadlye face, 66 a thousand markes, This man were alive as hee is dead. Yett for the manfull part hee playd, Which fought soe well with heart and hand, His men shall have twelvepence a day, Till they come to my brother kings high land." Erle of Nottingham, And soe was never, &c. MS. 185 190 XIII. Lady Anne Bothwell's Lament.1 A SCOTTISH SONG. The subject of this pathetic ballad the Editor once thought might possibly relate to the Earl of Bothwell, and his desertion of his wife, Lady Jean Gordon, to make room for his marriage with the Queen of Scots: but this opinion he now believes to be groundless; indeed Earl Bothwell's age, which was upwards of 60 at the time of that marriage, renders it unlikely that he should be the object of so warm a passion as this elegy supposes. He has been since informed, that it entirely refers to a private story: A young lady of the name of Bothwell, or rather Boswell, having been, together with her child, deserted by her husband or lover, composed these affecting lines herself, which here are given from a copy in the Editor's folio MS., corrected by another in Allan Ramsay's Miscellany. BALOW, my babe, lye still and sleipe! Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe, 2 Whan he began to court my luve, Balow, &c. 5 10 It is now an established fact that the unhappy Lady Anne was daughter to Bothwell, Bishop of Orkney. The faithless "father was the lady's cousin, Alexander Erskine, son to the Earl of Mar. While in the service of the Covenanters, he came to his death in Douglass Castle, 1640. See Child's English and Scottish Ballads, IV., 123.-Editor. 2 When sugar was first imported into Europe, it was a very great dainty; and therefore the epithet sugred is used by all our old writers metaphorically, to express extreme and delicate sweetness.-See above, p. 372, v. 10. Sugar at present is cheap and common; and therefore suggests now a coarse and vulgar idea. |