sher

the

If you, my lord, have chofen mee

Of a hundred gunners to be head,
Then hang me up on your maine-mast tree,
If I miffe my marke one fhilling bread +.
My lord then chose a boweman rare,

Whofe active hands had gained fame
In Yorkshire he was a gentleman borne,
And William Horseley was his name.

Horfeley, fayd he, I muft with speede
Go feeke a traytor on the sea,
And now of a hundred bowemen brave
To be the head I have chofen thee.
If you, quoth hee, have chosen mee
Of a hundred bowemen to be head;
On your maine-màft Ile hanged bee,

50

55

60

кл

If I mifs twelvefcore one penny bread †.

65

With pikes and gunnes, and bowemen bold,
The noble Howard is gone to the sea;
With a valyant heart and a pleasant cheare,
Out at Thames mouth fayled he.

And days he fcant had fayled three,

Upon the voyage', he tooke in hand,
But there he met with a noble shipp,

70

And foutly made it ftay and ftand,

Thou

An old Eng. word for Breadth,
*Pr. copy.

iv. 70. Journey.

in proved by the latter (chiefly from a Mark setter Copy ni the Depyn Cotection) as also occasionally by conjetors.

Mr Lambe in his Notes to the

Purin on the Batth of Fludden Fists
contends, that this export Bowman.
Name was not Horschey,
Hustler of a Famity of t
long seated near Strikton, in
Cleveland, Yorkshire. Vid. pag.s.

ANCIENT POEM S.

Thou must tell me, lord Howard jed
Now who thou art, and what's thy name;
And fhewe me where thy dwelling is:

185

[sais

And whither bound, and whence thou came. My name is Henry Hunt, quoth hee

With a heavye heart, and a carefull mind;

I and my fhipp doe both belong

To the Newcastle, that ftands upon Tyne.

Haft thou not heard, nowe, Henrye Hunt,

As thou haft fayled by daye and by night,

ton

Of a Scottish rover on the feas;

Men call him fir Andrew Barton, knighte?

Than ever he fighed, and fayd alas!

85

With a grieved mind, and well away!

But over-well I knowe that wight,

I was his prifoner yesterday.

As I was fayling upon the fea,

A Burdeaux voyage for to fare;

To his arch-borde * he clasped me,

Em

You fall not need, lord Howard fans/Sais

Lett me but once that robber fee,

For every penny tane thee froe

It fhall be doubled fhillings three.

100

Nowe God forefend, the merchant faxed, sands
That you hold feek foe far amiffe!

God keepe you out o' that traitors hands!
Full litle ye mott what a man he is.

He is braffe within, and fteele without.
With beames on his topcaftle stronge;
And thirtye pieces of ordinance

He carries on each fide along:
And he hath a pinnace deerlye dight,
St. Andrewes croffe itt is his guide;
Ilis pinnace beareth ninefcore men,
And fifteen canons on each fide,

Were ye twentye hippes, and he but one;
I sweare by kirke, and bower, and hall;
He wold orecome them every one,

If once his beames they doe downe fall *.
This is cold comfort, faye my lord,

To welcome a stranger on the fea:
Yet Ile bring him and his hipp to shore,
Or to Scotland be shall carrye mee.

would

105

110

115

sais

120

Then

* The Eder would be obliged to any naval antiquays that woul explain abis.

Instead of this give
The opposite note