%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> A True RELATION of the Death of / Sir Andrew Barton, a Pyrate and Rover. University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center English Broadside Ballad Archive (EBBA) Director Patricia Fumerton Associate Director Carl G Stahmer ?-? Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 06/20/2014 33971

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Patricia Fumerton Early Modern Center - English Department University of California Santa Barbara, CA 93105 United States of America EMail: pfumer@english.ucsb.edu

WHEN Flora with her fragrant Flowers, / Bedeck'd the Earth so trim and gay, Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 1: 1306 A True RELATION of the Death of / Sir Andrew Barton, a Pyrate and Rover. A True RELATION of the Death of Sir Andrew Barton, a Pirate and Rover. ?-?

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 Early Modern Center Ballad Project Keyword Taxonomy advice affliction/ health alcohol Americas animals/ nature Bible/ biblical figures buildings/ architecture catastrophe children class clothing/ appearance country/ nation crime death economics/ commerce entertainments family Featured folklore gender holidays/ seasons infidelity labor/ craft law London love maritime marriage military/ war monstrosity mythology/ Classical news nobility/ court politics/ government procreation punishment race/ ethnicity religious concepts religious figures religious groups royalty rural life servitude sex/ sexuality supernatural/ magic travel trickery/ deceit urban life vice violence virtue vulgar humor youth/ age Library of Congress Subject Heading Taxonomy 6/20/2014 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America country/ nation crime death maritime nobility/ court royalty violence Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 6/20/2014 10:46:40 AM XBallad Casavant, Alex Created XML Version of Ballad 6/20/2014 10:46:40 AM Transcription Supervisor Meyer, Shannon Transcription of ballad manuscript 6/20/2014 10:46:40 AM Double-Key Comparison and Merging Meyer, Shannon Transcription of ballad manuscript 6/20/2014 10:46:40 AM Transcriptionist Two Koath, Jayne Transcription of ballad manuscript 6/20/2014 10:46:40 AM Transcriptionist One Keller Scotch, Grace Transcription of ballad manuscript 3/12/2013 Checker William Hildalgo Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 11/26/2012 Bibliographer Elizabeth Aguilar Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created 11/26/2012 Checker Elizabeth Aguilar Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 1/15/2014 Checker Jeremy Chow Edited Ballad Catalogue Record
<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">A True RELATION of the Death of</hi></seg> <seg n="2" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">Sir <hi rend="bold">Andrew Barton,</hi> a Pyrate <hi rend="bold">and</hi> Rover.</hi></seg>
WHEN Flora with her fragrant flowers, Bedeck'd the earth so trim and gay, And Iris with his dainty showers, Came to present the month of May, King Henry would a hunting ride; Over the River of Thames pass'd he, Unto a mountain top also, Did walk some pleasures for to see. Where forty merchants he espy'd, With forty sail come towards him: Who then no sooner were arriv'd, But on their knees did thus complain: An't please your Grace we cannot sail, Unto France a voyage to be sure, But Sir Barton he makes us quail, And robs us of our merchants store. Vex'd was the King and turning him, Said to the Lords of high degree, Have I ne'er a Lord within my realm, Dares fetch that traitor unto me? To him reply'd Charles Lord Howard, I will, my Liege, with heart and hand, If it please you grant me leave, he said, I will perform what you command. To him then spoke King Henry, I fear, my Lord, you are too young: No whit at all, my Liege, quoth he, I hope to prove in valour strong. The Scotch Knight now I vow to seek, In what place soe'er he be; And bring him a-shore with all might, Or into Scotland he shall carry me. A hundred men the King then said Out of my realm shall chosen be; Besides sailors and ship-boys, For to guide a ship on the sea. Bowmen and gunners of good skill, Shall for this service chosen be; And they at thy command and will, In all affairs shall wait on thee, Lord Howard call'd a gunner then; Who was the best in all the realm; His age was threescore years and ten, And Peter Simon was his name. My Lord call'd then a bowman rate, Whose active hands had gained fame; A gentleman born in Yorkshire. And William Horsly was his name. Horsly, quoth he, I must to go to sea, For to seek a traitor with good speed: Of a hundred bowmen brave, quoth he, I have chose thee to be their head. If you, my Lord, have chosen me, Of a hundred men to be their head, Upon the main-mast I will be hang'd, If twelve-score I miss a shilling's breadth. Lord Howard then of courage bold, Went to sea with pleasant chear, Not curb'd with winter's piercing cold, Tho' 'twas a stormy time of year, Not long he had been on the sea, More in Days than number three; But one Harry Hunt he there espy'd, A merchant of Newcastle was he.
To him Lord Howard call'd out amain, And strictly charged him to stand; Demanding then from whence he came, Or whence he intend to land. The merchant then made answer soon, With heavy heart and careful mind, My Lord my ship it doth belong Unto Newcastle-upon-Tyne. Can'st thou shew me, the Lord did say, As thou didst sail by day or night, A Scotish rover on the seas, His name is Andrew Barton, Knight. At this the merchant sigh'd and said, With grieved mind, and well-away, But over-well I know that wight, I was his prisoner but yesterday. As I, my Lord, did sail from France, A Bourdeaux voyage to make so far; I met with Sir Andrew Barton, Knight, Who robb'd me of my merchant ware. And mickle debts, god-wot, I owe, And every man doth crave his own, And I am bound for London now, Of our gracious King to beg a boon. Shew me him, said Lord Howard then, Let me but once the villain see, And ev'ry penny he hath from thee ta'en, I'll double it with Shillings three, Now, God forbid, the merchant said, I fear your aim that you will miss; God bless you from his tyranny, For little do you think what a man he is. He is brass within, and steel without, His ship most huge, and mighty strong; With eighteen pieces of ordinance, He carrieth on each side along. With beams for his top-castle, As being also huge and high: That neither English nor Portugal Can Sir Andrew Barton once pass by. Hard news thou shewest, then said the Lord, For to welcome angels unto the sea, But as I said, I'll bring him abroad, Or into Scotland he shall carry me. The merchant said, if you will do so, Take counsel then, I pray, withal: Let no man to his top-castle go, Nor strive to let his beams down fall. Lend me seven pieces of ordinance then, On each side of my ship, said he: And by to-morrow, my good Lord, Again I will your Honour see. A glass I'll set as may be seen, Whither you sail by day or night, And to-morrow besure before seven, You shall meet Sir Andrew Barton, Knight. The merchant set my Lord a glass, So well aparent in his sight; That on the morrow as the promise was, He saw Sir Andrew Barton, Knight. The Lord then swore a mighty oath, Now by the heavens that be of might, By faith believe me, and by troth. I think he is a worthy Knight.
Fetch me my lion out of hand, Saith he, with rose and streamers high; Set up withal a willow wand, That merchant-like I may pass by. That bravely did Lord Howard pass, And on an anchor rose so high; No top-sail at length he cast, But as a foe did him defy. Sir Andrew Barton seeing him. Thus scornfully for to pass by, As tho' he cared not a pin, For him and his company. Then called he for his men amain, Fetch back yon pedlar, now quoth he, And ere this way he comes again, I'll teach him well his courtesy. A piece of ordnance being shot, By this proud pyrate fiercely then; Into Lord Howard's middle deck, Which cruel shot kill'd fourteen men. He call'd then Peter Simon he, Look now thy word do stand instead, For thou shalt be hanged on main-mast, If thou miss twelve score one shillings breadth. Then Peter Simon gave a shot, Which Sir Andrew muckle scare; In at his deck it came so hot, Kill'd fifteen of his men of war; Alas! then said the pyrate stout, I am in danger now I see; This is some Lord I greatly fear, Who is sat out to conquer me. Then Henry Hunt with rigour hot, Came bravely on the other side; Who likewise shot in at his deck, And kill'd fifty of his men besides; Then out, alas! Sir Andrew cry'd, What may a man now think or say; You merchant thief that pierceth me, He was my prisoner yesterday. Then did he on Gordion call, Unto the top's castle for to go: And bid his beams he should let fall; For he greatly fear'd an overthrow. The Lord call'd Horsley then in haste, Look that thy word do stand instead; For hanged thou shalt be on main-mast If thou miss twelvescore shillings breadth. Then up the main-mast swerved he, This stout and mighty Gordion; But Horsley he most happily Shot him under the collar bone. Then call'd he on his nephew, and Said, sister's son, I have no more; Three hundred pounds I will give thee, If thou wilt to the top castle go. Then stoutly he began to climb, For off the mast scorn'd to depart: But Horsley soon prevented him, And deadly pierc'd him to the heart. His men being slain then up a-main Did this proud pyrate climb with speed, For armour of proof he had put on, And not hint of arrows dread.
Come hither Horsly, said the Lord, See thou thy arrows aim right; Great means to thee I'll sure afford, And if thou speed'st thou shalt be a Knight. Sir Andrew did climb up the tree, With right good will, and all his main; Then upon his breast hit Horsley he, Bu[t] the arrow did return again. Then Horsley 'spy'd a private place, Wi[t]h a private eye in a secret part, His arrows swiftly flew apace, And smote Sir Andrew to the heart. Fight on, fight on, my merry men, A little I am hurt, but am not slain, I will lie down and bleed awhile, And come and fight with you again. And don't, said he, fear English rogues, And of your foes stand not in awe; But stand fast by St. Andrew's Cross, Until you hear my whistle blow. They never did hear his whistle blow, Which made them all most sore afraid; Then Horsley said, My Lord a-board, For now Sir Andrew Barton's dead. Thus boarded they this gallant ship, With right good-will, and all their main, Eighteen score Scots alive in it, Besides as many more were slain. The Lord went where Sir Andrew lay, And quickly then cut off his head. I should leave England many a day, If thou wert alive as thou art dead. Thus from the war Lord Howard came With mickle joy and triumphing; The pyrate's head he brought along, For to present unto the King. Who briefly unto him did say, Before he well knew what was done, Where is the Knight and pyrate gay, That I myself may give the doom? You may thank God, then said the Lord, And for men in the ship, quoth he, That we are safely come on shore, Sith you never had such an enemy That is Henry Hunt and Peter Simon, William Horsley, and Peter's son; Therefore reward them for their pains, For they did service in their turn. To the merchant therefore the King said, In lieu of what he hath from thee taken, I'll give to thee a noble a day, Sir Andrew's whistle and his chain. To Peter Simon a crown a day. And half a crown to Peter's son; And that was for a shot so gay, Which bravely brought Sir Andrew down. Horsley, I will make thee a Knight, And in Yorksh[i]re thou shalt dwell; Lord Howard shall Lord Bury be, For this act deserveth well. Ninety pounds our Englishmen, Who in this fight did stoutly stand, And twelve-pence a day to the Scots, till this Come to my brother King's high-land.
London, Printed and Sold at No. 4, Aldermary Church Yard, Bow-Lane.