The book of British ballads . roke down my lords fore mast, And killed fourteen of his men. Come hither, Simon, sayes my lord, Looke that thy word be true, thou said ;For at my maine-mast thou shall hang, If thou misse thy marke one shilling bread. Simon was old, but his heart itt was bold. His ordinance he laid right lowe ;He put in chaine full nine yardes long, With other great shott lesse, and moe ;And he lette goe his great gunnes shott: Soe well he settled itt with his ee,The first sight that Sir Andrew sawe, He see his pinnace sunke in the sea. And when he saw his pinnace sunke, Lord, ho
The book of British ballads . roke down my lords fore mast, And killed fourteen of his men. Come hither, Simon, sayes my lord, Looke that thy word be true, thou said ;For at my maine-mast thou shall hang, If thou misse thy marke one shilling bread. Simon was old, but his heart itt was bold. His ordinance he laid right lowe ;He put in chaine full nine yardes long, With other great shott lesse, and moe ;And he lette goe his great gunnes shott: Soe well he settled itt with his ee,The first sight that Sir Andrew sawe, He see his pinnace sunke in the sea. And when he saw his pinnace sunke, Lord, how his heart with rage did swell! Nowe cutt my ropes, itt is time to be gon; He fetch yond pedlars backe my Lord sawe Sir Andrew loose, Within his heart hee was full faine : Nowe spread your ancyents, strike up drummes, Sound all your trumpetts out amaine. Fight on, my men, Sir Andrew sais, Weale howsoever this geere will sway ; Itt is my lord admirall of England,Is come to seek mee on the sea. T. Armstrong sc. 364. SbCr &n&refo barton. Simon had a sonne, who shott right well,That did Sir Andrew mickle scare ; In att his decke he gave a shott, Killed threescore of his men of warre. Then Henry Hunt with rigour hott Came bravely on the other side,Soone he drove down his fore-mast tree, And killed fourscore men beside. Nowe, out alas ! Sir Andrew cryed, What may a man now thinke, or say ?Yonder merchant theefe, that pierceth mee, He was my prisoner yesterday. Come hither to me, thou Gordon good, That aye wast readye att my call;I will give thee three hundred markes, If thou wilt let my beames downe Howard hee then calld in haste, Horseley, see thou be true in stead ;For thou shalt at the maine-mast hang, If thou misse twelvescore one penny bread. Then Gordon swarved the maine-mast tree, He swarved it with might and maine;But Horseley with a bearing arrowe, Stroke the Gordon through the braine;And he fell unto the haches again, And sore his deadlye wounde did b
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