Chapter 4
And soon before our king they came, And knelt down on the ground: Then might the tanner have been away, He had lever[95] than twenty pound.
A collar, a collar, here: said the king, A collar he loud 'gan cry: Then would he lever than twenty pound, He had not been so nigh.
A collar, a collar, the tanner he said, I trow it will breed sorrow: After a collar cometh a halter, I trow I shall be hang'd to-morrow.
Be not afraid, tanner, said our king; I tell thee, so mote I thee, Lo here I make thee the best esquire That is in the north country.
For Plumpton-park I will give thee, With tenements fair beside: 'Tis worth three hundred marks by the year, To maintain thy good cow-hide.
Gramercy, my liege, the tanner replied, For the favour thou hast me shown: If ever thou comest to merry Tamwòrth, Neat's[96] leather shall clout thy shoen.[97]
FOOTNOTES:
[85] Ready.
[86] A shilling was a large sum in those days.
[87] Know.
[88] Prove.
[89] _i.e._ Hast no other wealth but what thou carriest about thee.
[90] A dealer in bark.
[91] May I thrive.
[92] Flayed.
[93] Broken.
[94] Time.
[95] Rather.
[96] Cow's.
[97] Mend thy shoes.
THE HEIR OF LINNE.
PART THE FIRST.
Lithe[98] and listen, gentlemen, To sing a song I will begin: It is of a lord of fair Scotland, Which was the unthrifty heir of Linne.
His father was a right good lord, His mother a lady of high degree; But they, alas! were dead, him fro', And he lov'd keeping company.
To spend the day with merry cheer, To drink and revel every night, To card and dice from eve to morn, It was, I ween, his heart's delight.
To ride, to run, to rant, to roar, To alway spend and never spare, I know, an' it were the king himself, Of gold and fee he might be bare.
So fares the unthrifty lord of Linne Till all his gold is gone and spent; And he maun sell his lands so broad, His house, and lands, and all his rent.
His father had a keen stewàrd, And John o' the Scales was called he: But John is become a gentleman, And John has got both gold and fee.
Says, Welcome, welcome, lord of Linne, Let nought disturb thy merry cheer; If thou wilt sell thy lands so broad, Good store of gold I'll give thee here.
My gold is gone, my money is spent; My land now take it unto thee: Give me the gold, good John o' the Scales, And thine for aye my land shall be.
Then John he did him to record draw, And John he cast him a gods-pennie;[99] But for every pound that John agreed, The land, I wis, was well worth three.
He told him the gold upon the board, He was right glad his land to win; The gold is thine, the land is mine, And now I'll be the lord of Linne.
Thus he hath sold his land so broad, Both hill and holt,[100] and moor and fen, All but a poor and lonesome lodge, That stood far off in a lonely glen.
For so he to his father hight,[101] My son, when I am gone, said he, Then thou wilt spend thy land so broad, And thou wilt spend thy gold so free:
But swear me now upon the cross, That lonesome lodge thou'lt never spend; For when all the world doth frown on thee, Thou there shalt find a faithful friend.
The heir of Linne is full of gold: And come with me, my friends, said he, Let's drink, and rant, and merry make, And he that spares, ne'er mote he thee.[102]
They ranted, drank, and merry made, Till all his gold it waxed thin; And then his friends they slunk away; They left the unthrifty heir of Linne.
He had never a penny left in his purse, Never a penny left but three, And one was brass, another was lead, And another it was white monèy.
Now well-a-day, said the heir of Linne, Now well-a-day, and woe is me, For when I was the lord of Linne, I never wanted gold nor fee.
But many a trusty friend have I, And why should I feel grief or care? I'll borrow of them all by turns, So need I not be never bare.
But one, I wis, was not at home; Another had paid his gold away; Another called him thriftless loon, And bade him sharply wend his way.
Now well-a-day, said the heir of Linne, Now well-a-day, and woe is me; For when I had my lands so broad, On me they liv'd right merrily.
To beg my bread from door to door I wis, it were a burning shame: To rob and steal it were a sin: To work my limbs I cannot frame.
Now I'll away to lonesome lodge, For there my father bade me wend; When all the world should frown on me, I there should find a trusty friend.
PART THE SECOND.
Away then hied the heir of Linne O'er hill and holt, and moor and fen, Until he came to lonesome lodge, That stood so low in a lonely glen.
He looked up, he looked down, In hope some comfort for to win: But bare and loathly were the walls. Here's sorry cheer, quo' the heir of Linne.
The little window dim and dark Was hung with ivy, brier, and yew; No shimmering sun here ever shone; No wholesome breeze here ever blew.
No chair nor table he mote spy, No cheerful hearth, no welcome bed, Nought save a rope with running noose That dangling hung up o'er his head.
And over it in broad lettèrs, These words were written plain to see: "Ah! graceless wretch, hast spent thine all, And brought thyself to penury?
"All this my boding mind misgave, I therefore left this trusty friend: Let it now shield thy foul disgrace, And all thy shame and sorrows end."
Sorely shent[103] wi' this rebuke, Sorely shent was the heir of Linne; His heart, I wis, was near to burst With guilt and sorrow, shame and sin.
Never a word spake the heir of Linne, Never a word he spake but three: This is a trusty friend indeed, And is right welcome unto me.
Then round his neck the cord he drew, And sprang aloft with his body: When lo! the ceiling burst in twain, And to the ground came tumbling he.
Astonished lay the heir of Linne, Nor knew if he were live or dead: At length he looked, and saw a bill,[104] And in it a key of gold so red.
He took the bill, and looked it on, Straight good comfort found he there: It told him of a hole in the wall, In which there stood three chests in-fere.[105]
Two were full of the beaten gold, The third was full of white monèy; And over them in broad lettèrs These words were written so plain to see:
"Once more, my son, I set thee clear; Amend thy life and follies past; For but thou amend thee of thy life, That rope must be thy end at last."
And let it be, said the heir of Linne; And let it be, but[106] if I amend: For here I will make my vow, This reade[107] shall guide me to the end.
Away then went with a merry cheer, Away then went the heir of Linne; I wis, he neither ceas'd nor blanne,[108] Till John o' the Scales' house he did win.
And when he came to John o' the Scales, Up at the speere[109] then looked he; There sat three lords upon a row, Were drinking of the wine so free.
And John himself sat at the board-head, Because now lord of Linne was he. I pray thee, he said, good John o' the Scales, One forty pence, for to lend me.
Away, away, thou thriftless loon; Away, away, this may not be; For Christ's curse on my head, he said, If ever I trust thee one pennie.
Then bespake the heir of Linne, To John o' the Scales' wife then spake he: Madame, some alms on me bestow, I pray for sweet saint Charity.
Away, away, thou thriftless loon, I swear thou gettest no alms of me; For if we should hang any losel[110] here, The first we would begin with thee.
Then bespake a good fellòw, Which sat at John o' the Scales his board; Said, Turn again, thou heir of Linne; Some time thou wast a well good lord:
Some time a good fellow thou hast been, And sparedst not thy gold and fee; Therefore I'll lend thee forty pence, And other forty if need be.
And ever, I pray thee, John o' the Scales, To let him sit in thy company: For well I wot thou hadst his land, And a good bargain it was to thee.
Up then spake him John o' the Scales, All wood[111] he answer'd him again: Now Christ's curse on my head, he said, But I did lose by that bargàin.
And here I proffer thee, heir of Linne, Before these lords so fair and free, Thou shalt have it back again better cheap, By a hundred marks, than I had it of thee.
I draw you to record, lords, he said. With that he cast him a gods-pennie: Now by my fay, said the heir of Linne, And here, good John, is thy monèy.
And he pull'd forth three bags of gold, And laid them down upon the board: All woe begone was John o' the Scales, So shent[112] he could say never a word.
He told him forth the good red gold, He told it forth with mickle din. The gold is thine, the land is mine, And now again I'm the lord of Linne.
Says, Have thou here, thou good fellòw, Forty pence thou didst lend me: Now I am again the lord of Linne, And forty pounds I will give thee.
I'll make thee keeper of my forest, Both of the wild deer and the tame; For but I reward thy bounteous heart, I wis, good fellow, I were to blame.
Now well-a-day! saith Joan o' the Scales: Now well-a-day! and woe is my life! Yesterday I was lady of Linne, Now I'm but John o' the Scales his wife.
Now fare thee well, said the heir of Linne; Farewell now, John o' the Scales, said he: Christ's curse light on me, if ever again I bring my lands in jeopardy.
FOOTNOTES:
[98] Attend.
[99] Earnest-money.
[100] Wood.
[101] Promised.
[102] May he thrive.
[103] Disgraced.
[104] Writing.
[105] Together.
[106] Unless.
[107] Counsel.
[108] Lingered.
[109] Hole in the window.
[110] Worthless fellow.
[111] Wild.
[112] Disgraced.
SIR ANDREW BARTON.
PART THE FIRST.
When Flora with her fragrant flowers Bedecked the earth so trim and gay, And Neptune with his dainty showers Came to present the month of May, King Henry rode to take the air, Over the river Thames past he; When eighty merchànts of London came, And down they knelt upon their knee.
O ye are welcome, rich merchants; Good sailors, welcome unto me. They swore by the rood, they were sailors good, But rich merchànts they could not be: To France nor Flanders dare we pass, Nor Bordeaux voyage dare we fare;[113] And all for a rover that lies on the seas, Who robs us of our merchant ware.
King Henry frowned, and turned him round, And swore by the Lord, that was mickle of might, I thought he had not been in the world, Durst have wrought England such unright. The merchants sighed, and said, alas! And thus they did their answer frame, He is a proud Scot, that robs on the seas, And Sir Andrew Barton is his name.
The king looked over his left shouldèr, And an angry look then looked he: Have I never a lord in all my realm, Will fetch yon traitor unto me? Yea, that dare I, lord Howard says; Yea, that dare I with heart and hand; If it please your grace to give me leave, Myself will be the only man.
Thou art but young, the king replied; Yon Scot hath numbered many a year. Trust me, my liege, I'll make him quail, Or before my prince I will never appear. Then bowmen and gunners thou shalt have, And choose them over my realm so free; Besides good mariners, and ship-boys, To guide the great ship on the sea.
The first man that lord Howard chose Was the ablest gunner in all the realm, Though he was threescore years and ten; Good Peter Simon was his name. Peter, says he, I must to the sea, To bring home a traitor live or dead; Before all others I have chosen thee, Of a hundred gunners to be the head.
If you, my lord, have chosen me Of a hundred gunners to be the head, Then hang me up on your main-mast tree, If I miss my mark one shilling bread.[114] My lord then chose a bowman rare, Whose active hands had gained fame; In Yorkshire was this gentleman born, And William Horseley was his name.
Horseley, said he, I must with speed Go seek a traitor on the sea, And now of a hundred bowmen brave To be the head I have chosen thee. If you, quoth he, have chosen me Of a hundred bowmen to be the head, On your main-màst I'll hanged be, If I miss, twelvescore,[115] one penny bread.
With pikes and guns, and bowmen bold, This noble Howard is gone to the sea; With a valiant heart and a pleasant cheer, Out at Thames mouth sailed he. And days he scant had sailed three Upon the voyage he took in hand, But there he met with a noble ship, And stoutly made it stay and stand.
Thou must tell me, lord Howard said, Now who thou art and what's thy name, And show me where thy dwelling is, And whither bound, and whence thou came. My name is Henry Hunt, quoth he With a heavy heart, and a careful mind; I and my ship do both belong To the Newcastle that stands upon Tyne.
Hast thou not heard, now, Henry Hunt, As thou hast sailed by day and by night, Of a Scottish rover on the seas; Men call him sir Andrew Barton, knight? Then ever he sighed, and said alas! With a grieved mind, and well away! But over-well I know that wight, I was his prisoner yesterday.
As I was sailing upon the sea, A Bordeaux voyage for to fare; To his hatchboard[116] he clasped me, And robbed me of all my merchant ware: And mickle debts, God wot, I owe, And every man will have his own, And I am now to London bound, Of our gracious king to beg a boon.
Thou shalt not need, lord Howard says; Let me but once that robber see, For every penny ta'en thee fro' It shall be doubled shillings three. Now God forefend, the merchant said, That you should seek so far amiss! God keep you out of that traitor's hands! Full little ye wot what a man he is.
He is brass within, and steel without, With beams on his topcastle strong; And eighteen pieces of ordinance He carries on each side along: And he hath a pinnace dearly dight,[117] St. Andrew's cross that is his guide; His pinnace beareth ninescore men, And fifteen cannons on each side.
Were ye twenty ships, and he but one, I swear by kirk, and bower, and hall, He would overcome them every one, If once his beams they do down fall. This is cold comfort, says my lord, To welcome a stranger thus to the sea: Yet I'll bring him and his ship to shore, Or to Scotland he shall carry me.
Then a noble gunner you must have, And he must aim well with his ee, And sink his pinnace into the sea, Or else he ne'er o'ercome will be: And if you chance his ship to board, This counsel I must give withal, Let no man to his topcastle go To strive to let his beams down fall.
And seven pieces of ordinance, I pray your honour lend to me, On each side of my ship along, And I will lead you on the sea. A glass I'll set, that may be seen, Whether you sail by day or night; And to-morrow, I swear, by nine of the clock You shall meet with Sir Andrew Barton, knight.
PART THE SECOND.
The merchant set my lord a glass So well apparent in his sight, And on the morrow, by nine of the clock, He showed him Sir Andrew Barton, knight. His hatchboard 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,[118] 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;[119] 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[120] Without my leave can pass this way. Then called he forth his stout pinnàce; Fetch back yon pedlars now to me: I swear by the mass, yon English churls 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, 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;[121] It is my lord admiral of Englànd, Is come to seek me on the sea. 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, Soon he drove down his fore-mast tree, And killed fourscore men beside. Now, out alas! Sir Andrew cried, 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; I will give thee three hundred marks, If thou wilt let my beams down fall. Lord Howard he then call'd in haste, Horseley see thou be true instead; For thou shalt at the main-mast hang, If thou miss, twelvescore, one penny bread.
Then Gordon swarved[122] the main-mast tree, He swarved it with might and main; But Horseley with a bearing arrow, Stroke the Gordon through the brain; And he fell into the hatches again, And sore his deadly wound did bleed: Then word went through Sir Andrew's men, How that the Gordon he was dead.
Come hither to me, James Hambilton, Thou art my only sister's son, If thou wilt let my beams down fall, Six hundred nobles thou hast won. With that he swarved the main-mast tree, He swarved it with nimble art; But Horseley with a broad arròw Pierced the Hambilton through the heart:
And down he fell upon the deck, That with his blood did stream amain: Then every Scot cried, Well-away! Alas, a comely youth is slain! All woe begone was Sir Andrew then, With grief and rage his heart did swell: Go fetch me forth my armour of proof, For I will to the topcastle mysel'.
Go fetch me forth my armour of proof; That gilded is with gold so clear: God be with my brother John of Barton! Against the Portingalls he it ware: And when he had on this armour of proof, He was a gallant sight to see: Ah! ne'er didst thou meet with living wight, My dear brothèr, could cope with thee.
Come hither Horseley, says my lord, And look your shaft that it go right, Shoot a good shot in time of need, And for it thou shalt be made a knight. I'll shoot my best, quoth Horseley then, Your honour shall see, with might and main; But if I was hanged at your main-mast, I have now left but arrows twain.
Sir Andrew he did swarve the tree, With right good will he swarved then: Upon his breast did Horseley hit, But the arrow bounded back again. Then Horseley spied a privy place With a perfect eye in a secret part; Under the spole[123] of his right arm He smote Sir Andrew to the heart.
Fight on, my men, Sir Andrew says, A little I'm hurt, but yet not slain; I'll but lie down and bleed awhile, And then I'll rise and fight again. Fight on, my men, Sir Andrew says, And never flinch before the foe; And stand fast by St. Andrew's cross Until you hear my whistle blow.
They never heard his whistle blow,---- Which made their hearts wax sore adread: Then Horseley said, Aboard, my lord, For well I wot, Sir Andrew's dead. They boarded then his noble ship, They boarded it with might and main; Eighteen score Scots alive they found, The rest were either maimed or slain.
Lord Howard took a sword in hand, And off he smote Sir Andrew's head, I must have left England many a day, If thou wert alive as thou art dead. He caused his body to be cast Over the hatchboard into the sea, And about his middle three hundred crowns: Wherever thou land this will bury thee.
Thus from the wars lord Howard came, And back he sailèd o'er the main, With mickle joy and triumphìng Into Thames mouth he came again. Lord Howard then a letter wrote, And sealèd it with seal and ring; Such a noble prize have I brought to your grace, As never did subject to a king:
Sir Andrew's ship I bring with me; A braver ship was never none: Now hath your grace two ships of war, Before in England was but one. King Henry's grace with royal cheer Welcomed the noble Howard home, And where, said he, is this rover stout, That I myself may give the doom?
The rover, he is safe, my liege, Full many a fathom 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 For the victory which we have won, These are William Horseley, Henry Hunt, And Peter Simon, and his son.
To Henry Hunt, the king then said, In lieu of what was from thee ta'en, A noble a-day now thou shalt have, Sir Andrew's jewels and his chain. And Horseley thou shalt be a knight, And lands and livings shalt have store; Howard shall be earl of Surrey hight, As Howards erst have been before.
Now, Peter Simon, thou art old, I will maintain thee and thy son: And the men shall have five hundred marks For the good service they have done. Then in came the queen with ladies fair To see Sir Andrew Barton knight: They ween'd that he were brought on shore, And thought to have seen a gallant sight.
But when they saw his deadly face, And eyes so hollow in his head, I would give, quoth the king, a thousand marks, This man were alive as he is dead: Yet for the manful part he played, Which fought so well with heart and hand, His men shall have twelvepence a day, Till they come to my brother king's high land.
FOOTNOTES:
[113] Travel.
[114] Breadth.