Chapter V: Part 5

As itt beffell in m[i]dsumer-time,
When burds singe sweetlye on every tree,
Our noble king, King Henery the Eighth,
Over the river of Thames past hee.

Hee was no sooner over the river,
Downe in a fforrest to take the ayre,
But eighty merchants of London cittye
Came kneeling before King Henery there.

‘O yee are welcome, rich merchants,
[Good saylers, welcome unto me!’]
They swore by the rood the were saylers good,
But rich merchants they cold not bee.

‘To Ffrance nor Fflanders dare we nott passe,
Nor Burdeaux voyage wee dare not ffare,
And all for a ffalse robber that lyes on the seas,
And robb[s] us of our merchants-ware.’

King Henery was stout, and he turned him about,
And swore by the Lord that was mickle of might,
‘I thought he had not been in the world throughout
That durst have wrought England such unright.’

But ever they sighed, and said, alas!
Unto King Harry this answere againe:
‘He is a proud Scott that will robb us all
If wee were twenty shipps and hee but one.’

The king looket over his left shoulder,
Amongst his lords and barrons soe ffree:
‘Have I never lord in all my realme
Will ffeitch yond traitor unto mee?’

‘Yes, that dare I!’ sayes my lord Chareles Howard,
Neere to the king wheras hee did stand;
‘If that Your Grace will give me leave,
My selfe wilbe the only man.’

‘Thou shalt have six hundred men,’ saith our king
‘And chuse them out of my realme soe ffree;
Besids marriners and boyes,
To guide the great shipp on the sea.’

‘I’le goe speake with Sir Andrew,’ sais Charles, my lord Haward;
‘Upon the sea, if hee be there;
I will bring him and his shipp to shore,
Or before my prince I will never come neere.’

The ffirst of all my lord did call,
A noble gunner hee was one;
This man was three score yeeres and ten,
And Peeter Simon was his name.

‘Peeter,’ sais hee, ‘I must sayle to the sea,
To seeke out an enemye; God be my speed!
Before all others I have chosen thee;
Of a hundred guners thoust be my head.’

‘My lord,’ sais hee, ‘if you have chosen mee
Of a hundred gunners to be the head,
Hange mee att your maine-mast tree
If I misse my marke past three pence bread.’

The next of all my lord he did call,
A noble bowman hee was one;
In Yorekshire was this gentleman borne,
And William Horsley was his name.

‘Horsley,’ sayes hee, ‘I must sayle to the sea,
To seeke out an enemye; God be my speede!
Before all others I have chosen thee;
Of a hundred bowemen thoust be my head.’

‘My lord,’ sais hee, ‘if you have chosen mee
Of a hundred bowemen to be the head,
Hang me att your maine-mast tree
If I misse my marke past twelve pence bread.’

With pikes, and gunnes, and bowemen bold,
This noble Howard is gone to the sea
On the day before midsummer-even,
And out at Thames mouth sayled they.

They had not sayled dayes three
Upon their iourney they tooke in hand,
But there they mett with a noble shipp,
And stoutely made itt both stay and stand.

‘Thou must tell me thy name,’ sais Charles, my lord Haward,
Or who thou art, or ffrom whence thou came,
Yea, and where thy dwelling is,
To whom and where thy shipp does belong.’

‘My name,’ sayes hee, ‘is Henery Hunt,
With a pure hart and a penitent mind;
I and my shipp they doe belong
Unto the New-castle that stands upon Tine.’

Now thou must tell me, Harry Hunt,
As thou hast sayled by day and by night,
Hast thou not heard of a stout robber?
Men calls him Sir Andrew Bartton, knight.’

But ever he sighed, and sayd, ‘Alas!
Ffull well, my lord, I know that wight;
He robd me of my merchants ware,
And I was his prisoner but yester-night.

As I was sayling upon the sea,
And [a] Burdeaux voyage as I did ffare,
He clasped me to his archborde,
And robd me of all my merchants-ware.

And I am a man both poore and bare,
And every man will have his owne of me,
And I am bound towards London to ffare,
To complaine to my prince Henerye.’

‘That shall not need,’ sais my lord Haward;
‘If thou canst lett me this robber see,
Ffor every peny he hath taken thee ffroe,
Thou shalt be rewarded a shilling,’ quoth hee.

‘Now God fforefend,’ saies Henery Hunt,
‘My lord, you shold worke soe ffarr amisse!
God keepe you out of that traitors hands!
For you wott ffull little what a man hee is.

‘Hee is brasse within, and steele without,
And beames hee beares in his topcastle stronge;
His shipp hath ordinance cleane round about;
Besids, my lord, hee is verry well mand.

‘He hath a pinnace is deerlye dight,
Saint Andrews crosse, that is his guide;
His pinnace beares nine score men and more,
Besids fifteen cannons on every side.

‘If you were twenty shippes, and he but one,
Either in archbord or in hall,
He wold overcome you everye one,
And if his beames they doe downe ffall.’

‘This is cold comfort,’ sais my Lord Haward,
‘To wellcome a stranger thus to the sea;
I’le bring him and his shipp to shore,
Or else into Scottland hee shall carrye mee.’

‘Then you must gett a noble gunner, my lord,
That can sett well with his eye,
And sinke his pinnace into the sea,
And soone then overcome will hee bee.

‘And when that you have done this,
If you chance Sir Andrew for to bord,
Lett no man to his topcastle goe;
And I will give you a glasse, my lord,

‘And then you need to ffeare no Scott,
Whether you sayle by day or by night;
And to-morrow, by seven of the clocke,
You shall meete with Sir Andrew Bartton, knight.

‘I was his prisoner but yester night,
And he hath taken mee sworne,’ quoth hee;
‘I trust my L[ord] God will me fforgive
And if that oath then broken bee.

‘You must lend me sixe peeces, my lord,’ quoth hee,
‘Into my shipp to sayle the sea,
And to-morrow, by nine of the clocke,
Your Honour againe then will I see.’

* * * * *

And the hache-bord where Sir Andrew lay
Is hached with gold deerlye dight:
‘Now by my ffaith,’ sais Charles, my lord Haward,
‘Then yonder Scott is a worthye wight!

‘Take in your ancyents and your standards,
Yea that no man shall them see,
And put me fforth a white willow wand,
As merchants use to sayle the sea.’

But they stirred neither top nor mast,
But Sir Andrew they passed by:
‘Whatt English are yonder,’ said Sir Andrew,
‘That can so little curtesye?

‘I have beene admirall over the sea
More then these yeeres three;
There is never an English dog, nor Portingall,
Can passe this way without leave of mee.

‘But now yonder pedlers, they are past,
Which is no little greffe to me:
Ffeitch them backe,’ sayes Sir Andrew Bartton,
‘They shall all hang att my maine-mast tree.’

With that the pinnace itt shott of,
That my Lord Haward might itt well ken;
Itt stroke downe my lords fforemast,
And killed fourteen of my lord his men.

‘Come hither, Simon!’ sayes my lord Haward,
‘Looke that thy words be true thou sayd;
I’le hang thee att my maine-mast tree
If thou misse thy marke past twelve pence bread.’

Simon was old, but his hart itt was bold;
Hee tooke downe a peece, and layd itt full lowe;
He put in chaine yards nine,
Besids other great shott lesse and more.

With that hee lett his gun-shott goe;
Soe hee well settled itt with his eye,
The first sight that Sir Andrew sawe,
Hee see his pinnace sunke in the sea.

When hee saw his pinace sunke,
Lord! in his hart hee was not well:
‘Cutt my ropes! itt is time to be gon!
I’le goe ffeitch yond pedlers backe my selfe!

‘When my lord Haward saw Sir Andrew loose,
Lord! in his hart that hee was ffaine:
‘Strike on your drummes! spread out your ancyents!
Sound out your trumpetts! sound out amaine!’

‘Fight on, my men!’ sais Sir Andrew Bartton;
‘Weate, howsoever this geere will sway,
Itt is my lord Adm[i]rall of England
Is come to seeke mee on the sea.’

Simon had a sonne; with shott of a gunne--
Well Sir Andrew might itt ken--
He shott itt in att a privye place,
And killed sixty more of Sir Andrews men.

Harry Hunt came in att the other syde,
And att Sir Andrew hee shott then;
He drove downe his fformast-tree,
And killed eighty more of Sir Andriwes men.

‘I have done a good turne,’ sayes Harry Hunt;
‘Sir Andrew is not our kings ffreind;
He hoped to have undone me yester-night,
But I hope I have quitt him well in the end.’

‘Ever alas!’ sayd Sir Andrew Barton,
‘What shold a man either thinke or say?
Yonder ffalse theeffe is my strongest enemye,
Who was my prisoner but yesterday.

‘Come hither to me, thou Gourden good,
And be thou readye att my call,
And I will give thee three hundred pound
If thou wilt lett my beames downe ffall.’

With that he swarved the maine-mast tree,
Soe did he itt with might and maine;
Horseley, with a bearing arrow,
Stroke the Gourden through the braine,

And he ffell into the haches againe,
And sore of this wound that he did bleed;
Then word went throug Sir Andrews men,
That the Gourden he was dead.

‘Come hither to me, Iames Hambliton,
Thou art my sisters sonne, I have no more;
I will give [thee] six hundred pound
If thou wilt lett my beames downe fall.’

With that hee swarved the maine-mast tree,
Soe did hee itt with might and maine
Horseley, with another broad arrow,
Strake the yeaman through the braine

That hee ffell downe to the haches againe;
Sore of his wound that hee did bleed.
Covetousness getts no gaine,
Itt is verry true, as the Welchman sayd.

But when hee saw his sisters sonne slaine,
Lord! in his heart hee was not well:
‘Goe ffeitch me downe my armour of prove,
For I will to the topcastle my-selfe.

‘Goe ffeitch me downe my armour of prooffe,
For itt is gilded with gold soe cleere;
God be with my brother, Iohn of Bartton!
Amongst the Portingalls hee did itt weare.’

But when hee had his armour of prooffe,
And on his body hee had itt on,
Every man that looked att him
Sayd, Gunn nor arrow hee neede feare none.

‘Come hither, Horsley!’ sayes my lord Haward,
‘And looke your shaft that itt goe right;
Shoot a good shoote in the time of need,
And ffor thy shooting thoust be made a knight.’

‘I’le doe my best,’ sayes Horslay then,
‘Your Honor shall see beffore I goe;
If I shold be hanged att your maine-mast,
I have in my shipp but arrowes tow.’

But att Sir Andrew hee shott then;
Hee made sure to hitt his marke;
Under the spole of his right arme
Hee smote Sir Andrew quite throw the hart.

Yett ffrom the tree hee wold not start,
But hee clinged to itt with might and maine;
Under the coller then of his iacke,
He stroke Sir Andrew thorrow the braine.

‘Ffight on, my men,’ sayes Sir Andrew Bartton
‘I am hurt, but I am not slaine;
I’le lay mee downe and bleed a-while,
And then I’le rise and ffight againe.

‘Ffight on, my men,’ sayes Sir Andrew Bartton,
‘These English doggs they bite soe lowe;
Ffight on for Scottland and Saint Andrew
Till you heare my whistle blowe!’

But when they cold not heare his whistle blow,
Sayes Harry Hunt, ‘I’le lay my head
You may bord yonder noble shipp, my lord,
For I know Sir Andrew hee is dead.’

With that they borded this noble shipp,
Soe did they itt with might and maine;
They ffound eighteen score Scotts alive,
Besids the rest were maimed and slaine.

My lord Haward tooke a sword in his hand,
And smote of Sir Andrews head;
The Scotts stood by did weepe and mourne,
But never a word durst speake or say.

He caused his body to be taken downe,
And over the hatch-bord cast into the sea,
And about his middle thre hundred crownes:
‘Whersoever thou lands, itt will bury thee.’

With his head they sayled into England againe,
With right good will, and fforce and main,
And the day beffore Newyeeres even
Into Thames mouth they came againe.

My lord Haward wrote to King Heneryes grace,
With all the newes hee cold him bring:
‘Such a Newyeeres gifft I have brought to your Grace
As never did subject to any king.

‘Ffor merchandyes and manhood,
The like is nott to be ffound;
The sight of these wold doe you good,
Ffor you have not the like in your English ground.’

But when hee heard tell that they were come,
Full royally hee welcomed them home;
Sir Andrewes shipp was the kings Newyeeres guifft;
A braver shipp you never saw none.

Now hath our king Sir Andrews shipp,
Besett with pearles and precyous stones;
Now hath England two shipps of warr,
Two shipps of war, before but one.

‘Who holpes to this?’ sayes King Henerye,
‘That I may reward him ffor his paine;’
‘Harry Hunt, and Peeter Simon,
William Horseleay, and I the same.’

‘Harry Hunt shall have his whistle and chaine,
And all his iewells, whatsoever they bee,
And other rich giffts that I will not name,
For his good service he hath done mee.

‘Horslay, right thoust be a knight,
Lands and livings thou shalt have store;
Howard shalbe Erle of Nottingham,
And soe was never Haward before.

‘Now, Peeter Simon, thou art old;
I will maintaine thee and thy son;
Thou shalt have five hundred pound all in gold,
Ffor the good service that thou hast done.’

Then King Henerye shiffted his roome;
In came the Queene and ladyes bright;
Other arrands they had none
But to see Sir Andrew Bartton, knight.

But when they see his deadly fface,
His eyes were hollow in his head;
‘I wold give a hundred pound,’ sais King Henerye,
‘The man were alive as hee is dead!

‘Yett for the manfull part that hee hath playd,
Both heere and beyond the sea,
His men shall have halfe a crowne a day
To bring them to my brother, King Iamye.’

_JOHN DORY._

As it fell on a holy-day, and upon an holy-tide-a,
John Dory bought him an ambling nag, to Paris for to ride-a:

And, when John Dory to Paris was come, a little before the gate-a,
John Dory was fitted, the porter was witted, to let him in
thereat-a.

The first man that John Dory did meet, was good King John of
France-a;
John Dory could well of his courtesie, but fell down in a trance-a:

‘A pardon, a pardon, my liege and my king, for my merie men and for
me-a;
And all the churles in merie England, Ile bring them all bound to
thee-a.’

And Nicholl was then a Cornish man, a little beside Bohide-a.
And he mande forth a good blacke barke, with fiftie good oares on a
side-a.

‘Run up, my boy, unto the maine-top, and looke what thou canst
spie-a.’
‘Who ho! who ho! a goodly ship I do see, I trow it be John Dory-a.’

They hoist their sailes, both top and top, the meisseine and all was
tride-a;
And every man stood to his lot, whatever should betide-a.

The roring cannons then were plide, and dub-a-dub went the drumme-a;
The braying trumpets lowd they cride to courage both all and some-a.

The grapling-hooks were brought at length, the browne bill and the
sword-a;
John Dory at length, for all his strength, was clapt fast under
board-a.

_THE MARINER’S SONG._

From the ‘Comedy of Common Conditions,’ about 1570.

_Lustely, lustely, lustely let us saile forthe;
The winde trim doth serve us, it blows from the north._

All thinges we have ready and nothing we want
To furnish our ship that rideth hereby;
Victuals and weapons thei be nothing skant,
Like worthie mariners ourselves we will trie.
_Lustely, lustely, &c._

Her flagges be new trimmed, set flanting alofte,
Our ship for swift swimmyng, oh! she doth excel;
We fear no enemies, we have escaped them ofte;
Of all ships that swimmeth she beareth the bell.
_Lustely, lustely, &c._

And here is a maister excelleth in skill,
And our maister’s mate he is not to seeke;
And here is a boteswaine will do his good will,
And here is a ship, boy, we never had leak.
_Lustely, lustely, &c._

If fortune then faile not, and our next voiage prove,
We will return merely, and make good cheare,
And holde all together as friends link’d in love;
The cannes shall be filled with wine, ale, and beer.
_Lustely, lustely, &c._

_A JOYFUL NEW BALLAD, DECLARING THE HAPPIE OBTAINING OF THE GREAT GALLEAZZO_,

Wherein Don Pietro de Valdez was the chiefe, through the mightie power and providence of God, being a special token of his gracious and fatherly goodness towards us, to the great encouragement of all those that willingly fight in the defence of his gospel, and our good Queene of England.

To the Tune of, _Mounseurs Almaigne_

O noble England, fall doune upon thy knee,
And praise thy God with thankfull hart, which still maintaineth thee.
The forraine forces, that seekes thy utter spoile:
Shall then through his especiall grace be brought to shamefull foile.
With mightie power they come unto our coast:
To over runne our countrie quite, they make their brags and boast.
In strength of men they set their onely stay,
But we upon the Lord our God will put our trust alway.

Great is their number of ships upon the sea;
And their provision wonderful, but, Lord, thou art our stay.
Their armed souldiers are many by account,
Their aiders eke in this attempt doe sundry waies surmount.
The Pope of Rome, with many blessed graines,
To sanctify their bad pretense, bestowed both cost and paines.
But little land, be not dismaide at all;
The Lord no doubt is on our side, which soone will worke their fall.

In happie houre our foes we did descry,
All under saile with gallant wind as they cam passing by.
Which suddaine tidings to Plymmouth being brought,
Full soone our Lord high Admirall for to pursue them sought.
And to his traine coragiously he said:
‘Now for the Lord and our good Queene to fight be not afraide.
Regard our cause, and play your partes like men:
The Lord no doubt will prosper us in all our actions then.’

This great Galleazzo, which was so huge and hye,
That like a bulwarke on the sea did seeme to each man’s eye,
There was it taken, unto our great reliefe;
And divers nobles, in which traine Don Pietro was the chiefe.
Strong was she stuft, with cannons great and small,
And other instruments of warre, which we obtained all.
A certaine signe of good successe we trust,
That God will overthrow the rest, as he hath done the first.

Then did our navie pursue the rest amaine
With roaring noise of cannons great, till they neare Callice came.
With manly courage they followed them so fast,
Another mighty Gallion did seem to yeeld at last,
And in distress, for savegard of their lives,
A flag of truce they did hang out, with many mournful cries:
Which when our men did perfectly espie,
Some little barkes they sent to her, to board her quietly.

But these false Spaniards, esteeming them but weake,
When they within their danger came, their malice forth did breake.
With charged cannons, they laide about them then;
For to destroy those proper barkes, and all their valiant men.
Which when our men perceived so to be,
Like lions fierce they forward went, to ’quite this injurie,
And bourding them, with strong and mightie hand,
They kild the men untill their arke did sinke in Callice sand.

The chiefest captaine of this Gallion so hie,
Don Hugo de Moncaldo he, within this fight did die,
Who was the Generall of all the Gallions great:
But through his braines with pouders force a bullet strong did beat.
And manie more by sword did loose their breath;
And manie more within the sea did swimme and tooke their death.
There might you see the salt and foming flood,
Dyed and staind like scarlet red, with store of Spanish blood.

This mightie vessell was threescore yards in length:
Most wonderfull to each man’s eie, for making and for strength,
In her was placed an hundreth cannons great;
And mightily provided eke, with bread, corne, wine and meat.
There was of oares two hundered, I weene:
Three-score foote and twelve in length, well measured to be seene,
And yet subdued, with manie others more:
And not a ship of ours lost, the Lord be thankt therefore.

Our pleasant countrie, so fruitfull and so faire,
They doe intend by deadly warre to make both poore and bare:
Our townes and cities to racke and sacke likewise:
To kill and murder man and wife, as malice doth avise;
And to deflower our virgins in our sight;
And in the cradle cruelly the tender babe to smite.
God’s holy truth they meane for to cast downe:
And to deprive our noble Queene both of her life and crowne.

Our wealth and riches, which we enjoyed long,
They doe appoint their prey and spoile, by crueltie and wrong;
To set our houses a fier on our heades;
And cursedly to cut our throates, as we lye in our beds.
Our children’s braines to dash against the ground;
And from the earth our memorie for ever to confound.
To change our joy to griefe and mourning sad:
And never more to see the dayes of pleasure we have had.

But God almightie be blessed evermore,
Who doth encourage Englishmen to beate them from our shoare.
With roaring cannons, their hastie steps to stay,
And with the force of thundering shot to make them flye away:
Who made account, before this time of day;
Against the walls of faire London their banners to display,
But their intent the Lord will bring to nought,
If faithfully we call and cry for succour as we ought.

And you, deare bretheren, which beareth armes this day.
For safegarde of your native soile, marke well what I shall say.
Regard your dueties, thinke on your countrie’s good:
And feare not, in defense thereof, to spend your dearest bloud.
Our gracious Queene doth greete you every one:
And saith she will among you be in bitter storme.
Desiring you true English hearts to beare;
To God, and her, and to the land wherein you nursed were.

Lord God almightie, which hath the harts in hand:
Of everie person to dispose, defend this English land.
Bless thou our Soveraigne with long and happie life:
Indue her Councel with thy grace, and end this mortall strife.
Give to the rest of Commons more and lesse,
Loving harts, obedient minds, and perfect faithfulnesse.
That they and we, and all, with one accord
On Sion hill may sing the praise of our most mightie Lord.
T(HOMAS) D(ELONEY).

_AN EXCELLENT SONG ON THE WINNING OF CALES BY THE ENGLISH._

(Tune of, _Dub a Dub; or, the Seaman’s Tantara rara_.)

Long the proud Spaniards had vanted to conquer us,
Threatening our country with fire and sword;
Often preparing their navy most sumptuous,
With all the provision that Spain could afford.
_Dub-a-dub, dub-a-dub, thus strike their drums;
Tan-ta-ra, ta-ra-ra, the Englishmen comes!_

To the seas presently went our Lord Admirall,
With knights couragyous, and captaines full good;
The Earl of Essex, a prosperous Generall,
With him prepared to passe the salt floode.
_Dub-a-dub, etc._

At Plymouth speedily took they shipp valiantly,
Braver shippes never were seen under sayle;
With their fayre colours spread, and streamers o’re their head
Now, bragging Spanyards, take heed of your tayle.
_Dub-a-dub, etc._

Unto Cales, cunningly, came we most speedylye,
Where the King’s navy did secretelye ride,
Being upon their backe, piercing their butts of Sacke,
Ere that the Spanyards our coming descry’d.
_Tan-ta-ra, ta-ra-ra, the Englishmen comes;
Bounce-a-bounce, bounce-a-bounce, off went the guns._

Great was the crying, running and ryding,
Which at that season was made in that place;
The Beacons were fyred, as need then required,
To hyde their great treasure they had little space.
_‘Alas!’ they cryed, ‘Englishmen comes,’ etc._

There you might see the shipps, how they were fired fast,
And how the men drowned them selves in the sea:
There you may hear them cry, wail and weep piteously,
When as they saw no shift to escape thence away.
_Dub-a-dub, etc._

The great _Saint Philip_, the pryde of the Spanyards,
Was burnt to the bottom, and sunke in the sea;
But the _Saint Andrew_, and eke the _Saint Matthew_
We took in fight manfully, and brought them away.
_Dub-a-dub, etc._

The Earl of Essex, most valyant and hardy,
With horse-men and foot-men march’d towards the towne
The enemies which saw them, full greatly affrighted,
Did fly for their safe-guard, and durst not come downe.
_Dub-a-dub, etc._

‘Now,’ quoth the noble Earl, ‘courage, my soldiers all!
Fight and be valiant, the spoyl you shall have;
And [be] well rewarded all, from the great to the small;
But looke that the women and children you save!’
_Dub-a-dub, etc._

The Spaniards, at that sight, saw ’twas in vain to fight,
Hung up their flags of truce, yielding the town;
We march’d in presently, decking the walls on high
With our English colours, which purchas’d renown.
_Dub-a-dub, etc._

Ent’ring the houses then, and of the richest men,
For gold and treasure we searched each day;
In some places we did find pye baking in the oven,
Meat at the fire roasting, and folkes fled away.
_Dub-a-dub, etc._

Full of rich merchandize every shop we did see,
Damasks, and sattins, and velvets full fair;
Which soldiers measure out by the length of their swords,
Of all commodities each one hath a share.
_Dub-a-dub, etc._

Thus Cales was taken, and our brave generall
March’d to the market-place, where he did stand;
There many prisoners of good account were took;
Many craved mercy, and mercy they found.
_Dub-a-dub, etc._

When as our brave generall saw they delayed time,
And would not ransom their town, as they said,
With their faire wainscots, their presses and bedsteads,
Their joint-stooles and tables, a fyre we made;
_And when the town burned all in a flame,
With tan-ta-ra, tan-ta-ra rara, from thence we came_.
(By THOMAS DELONEY.)

_THE SAILOR’S ONELY DELIGHT:_

Shewing the brave fight between _George-Aloe_, the _Sweep-stakes_ and certain Frenchmen at Sea.

The _George-Aloe_ and the _Sweep-stake_ too,
_With hey, with hoe, for and a nony no_;
O they were merchant-men and bound for Safee,
_And alongst the coast of Barbary_.

The _George-Aloe_ to anchor came,
But the jolly _Sweepstake_ kept on her way.

They had not sayled leagues two or three,
But they met with a Frenchman of war upon the sea.

‘All haile, all haile, you lusty gallants,
Of whence is your fair ship, or whither are you bound?’

‘We are Englishmen and bound for Safee,
Of whence is your fair ship, or whither are you bound?’

‘Amaine, amaine, you gallant Englishman,’
‘Come, you French swads, and strike down your sayle.’

They laid us aboord on the star-boord side,
And they overthrew us into the sea so wide.

When tidings to the _George-Aloe_ came,
That the jolly _Sweep-stake_ by a Frenchman was tane.

‘To top! to top, thou little ship-boy!
And see if this Frenchman of war thou canst descry.’

‘A sayle, a sayle, under our lee,
Yea, and another under her obey.’

‘Weigh anchor! weigh anchor, O jolly boat-swain,
We wil take this Frenchman if we can.’

We had not sayled leagues two or three,
But we met the Frenchman of war upon the sea,

‘All haile, all haile, you lusty gallants,
Of whence is your faire ship and whither are you bound?’

‘O, wee are merchant-men and bound for Safee.’
‘I, and wee are French-men, and war upon the sea.

‘Amaine, amaine, you English dogges!’
‘Come aboard, you French rogue, and strike down your sailes.’

The first good shot the _George-Aloe_ (made),
He made the French-men’s hearts sore afraid.

The second shot the _George-Aloe_ did afford,
He struck their mainmast over the board.

‘Have mercy, have mercy, you brave Englishmen,’
‘O what have you done with our brethren,
_As they sayled in Barbarie_?’

‘Wee laid them aboard on the starboard side,
And we threw them into the sea so wide.’

‘Such mercy as you have shewed unto them,
Then the like mercy shall you have againe.

Wee laid them aboard on the larboard side,
And we threw them into the sea so wide.

Lord! how it grieves our hearts full sore,
To see the drowned French-men swim along the shore.

Now, gallant sea-men all, adieu,
_With hey, with hoe, for and a nony no_;
This is the latest newes that I can write to you,
_To England’s coast from Barbarie_.

_THE SEAMAN’S SONG OF CAPTAIN WARD, THE FAMOUS PYRATE OF THE WORLD, AND AN ENGLISH-MAN BORN._

Tune, _The King’s going to Bulloign_.

Gallants, you must understand,
Captain Ward of England,
A pyrate and a rover on the sea,
Of late a simple fisherman
In the merrry town of Feversham,
Grows famous in the world now every day.

From the Bay of Plimouth
Sayled he towards the south,
With many more of courage and of might;
Christian princes have but few
Such seamen, if that he were true,
And would but for his King and country fight.

Lusty Ward adventurously
In the Straights of Barbary
Did make the Turkish gallyes for to shake.
Bouncing cannons fiery hot
Spared not the Turks one jot,
But of their lives great slaughter he did make.

The islanders of Malta,
With argosies upon the sea,
Most proudly braved Ward unto his face
But soon their pride was overthrown,
And their treasures made his own,
And all their men brought to a wofull case.

The wealthy ships of Venice
Afforded him great riches;
Both gold and silver won he by his sword.
Stately Spain and Portugal
Against him dare not bear up sail,
But gave him all the title of a lord.

Golden-seated Candy,
Famous France and Italy,
With all the countries of the Eastern parts,
If once their ships his pride with-stood,
They surely all were cloath’d in blood,
Such cruelty was plac’d within their hearts.

The riches he hath gain’d,
And by bloodshed obtained,
Well may suffice for to maintain a king;
His fellows all were valiant wights,
Fit to be made prince’s knights,
But that their lives do base dishonors bring.

This wicked-gotten treasure
Doth him but little pleasure;
The land consumes what they have got by sea,
In drunkenness and letchery,
Filthy sins of sodomy,
Their evil-gotten goods do wast[e] away.

Such as live by thieving
Have seldome-times good ending,
As by the deeds of Captain Ward is shown:
Being drunk amongst his drabs,
His nearest friend he sometimes stabs;
Such wickednesse within his heart is grown.

When stormy tempest riseth,
The Causer he despiseth,
Still denies to pray unto the Lord.
He feareth neither God nor devil,
His deeds are bad, his thoughts are evil,
His onley trust is still upon his sword.

Men of his own country
He still abuseth vilely;
Some back to back are cast into the waves;
Some are hewn in pieces small,
Some are shot against a wall;
A slender number of their lives he saves.

Of truth it is reported
That he is strongly guarded
By Turks that are not of a good belief;
Wit and reasons tell them
He trusteth not his country-men,
He shews the right condition of a thief.

At Tunis in Barbary
Now he buildeth stately
A gallant palace and a royal place,
Decked with delights most trim,
Fitter for a prince than him,
The which at last will prove to his disgrace.

To make the world to wonder,
This captain is commander
Of four-and-twenty ships of sayl,
To bring in treasure from the sea
Into the markets every day:
The which the Turks do buy up without fail.

His name and state so mounteth,
These countrey-men accounteth
Him equal to the nobles of that land;
But these his honours we shall find
Shortly blown up with the wind,
Or prove like letters written in the sand.

_THE SONG OF DANSEKAR THE DUTCHMAN._

(_Second Part of the Sea-man’s Song of Ward and Dansekar._)

Sing we sea-men, now and than,
Of Dansekar the Dutchman,
Whose gallant mind hath won him great renown;
To live on land he counts it base,
But seeks to purchase greater grace
By roving on the ocean up and down.

His heart is so aspiring,
That now his chief desiring
Is for to win himself a worthy name;
The land hath far too little ground,
The sea is of a larger bound,
And of a greater dignity and fame.

Now many a worthy gallant,
Of courage now most valiant,
With him hath put their fortunes to the sea;
All the world about have heard
Of Dansekar and Captain Ward,
And of their proud adventures every day.

There is not any kingdom,
In Turkey or in Christendom,
But by these pyrates have received loss;
Merchant-men of every land
Do daily in great danger stand,
And fear do much the ocean main to cross.

They make children fatherless,
Woful widows in distresse;
In shedding blood they [take] too much delight;
Fathers they bereave of sons,
Regarding neither cries nor moans,
So much they joy to see a bloody fight.

They count it gallant bearing
To hear the cannons roaring,
And musket shot to rattle in the sky;
Their glories would be at the highest
To fight against the foes of Christ,
And such as do our Christian faith deny.

But their cursed villanies,
And their bloody pyracies,
Are chiefly bent against our Christian friends;
Some Christians so delight in evils
That they become the sons of divels,
And for the same have many shameful ends.

England suffers danger
As well as any stranger;
Nations are alike unto this company;
Many English merchant-men,
And of London now and then,
Have tasted of their vile extremity.

London’s _Elizabeth_
Of late these rovers taken hath,
A ship well laden with rich merchandize;
The nimble _Pearl_ and _Charity_,
All ships of gallant bravery,
Are by these pyrates made a lawful prize.

The _Trojan_ of London,
With other ships many a one,
Hath stooped sail, and yielded out of hand,
(These pyrates they have shed their bloods,
And the Turks have bought their goods),
Being all too weak their power to withstand.

Of Hull the _Bonaventer_,
Which was a great frequenter
And passer of the Straits to Barbary,
Both ship and men [late] taken were
By Pyrates Ward and Dansekar,
And brought by them into captivity.

English Ward and Dansekar
Begin greatly now to jar
About [the true] dividing [of] their goods;
Both ships and soldiers gather head,
Dansekar from Ward is fled:
So full of pride and malice are their bloods.

Ward doth only promise
To keep about rich Tunis,
And be commander of those Turkish seas;
But valiant Dutch-land Dansekar
Doth hover neer unto Argier,
And there his threat’ning colours now displays.

These pyrates thus divided,
By God is sure provided
In secret sort to work each other’s woe;
Such wicked courses cannot stand,
The Divel thus puts in his hand,
And God will give them soon an overthrow.

_THE FAMOUS SEA-FIGHT BETWEEN CAPTAIN WARD AND THE RAINBOW._

To the Tune of _Captain Ward_, etc.

Strike up, you lusty gallants, with musick and sound of drum:
For we have descry’d a rover upon the sea is come;
His name is Captain Ward, right well it doth appear
There has not been such a rover found out this thousand year;

For he hath sent unto our King, the sixth of January,
Desiring that he might come in, with all his company;
‘And if your King will let me come, till I my tale have told,
I will bestow for my ransome full thirty tun of gold.’

‘O nay! O nay!’ then said our King, ‘O nay, this may not be,
To yield to such a rover my self will not agree;
He hath deceiv’d the French-man, likewise the King of Spain,
And how can he be true to me, that hath been false to twain?’

With that our King provided a ship of worthy fame;
_Rainbow_ she is called, if you would know her name.
Now the gallant _Rainbow_ she rowes upon the sea,
Five hundred gallant seamen to bear her company.

The Dutch-man and the Spaniard she made them for to flye,
Also the bonny French-man, as she met him on the sea.
When as this gallant _Rainbow_, did come where Ward did lye,
Where is the captain of this ship?’ this gallant _Rainbow_ did cry.

‘O that am I,’ says Captain Ward, ‘there’s no man bids me lye;
And if thou art the King’s fair ship thou art welcome unto me.’
‘I’le tell thee what,’ says _Rainbow_, ‘our King is in great grief
That thou should’st lye upon the sea and play the arrant thief,

‘And will not let our merchants’ ships pass, as they did before;
Such tydings to our King is come, which grieves his heart full sore.’
With that this gallant _Rainbow_ she shot, out of her pride,
Full fifty gallant brass pieces, charged on every side.

And yet these gallant shooters prevailed not a pin;
Though they were brass on the out-side brave Ward was steel within.
‘Shoot on, shoot on!’ says Captain Ward; ‘your sport well pleaseth
me;
And he that first gives over, shall yield unto the sea.

‘I never wrong’d an English ship, but Turk and King of Spain,
For and the jovial Dutch-man, as I met on the main.
If I had known your King but one two-years before,
I would have saved brave Essex life, whose death did grieve me sore.

‘Go, tell the King of England, go tell him thus from me,
If he reign king of all the land, I will reign king at sea.’
With that the gallant _Rainbow_ shot, and shot, and shot in vain,
And left the rover’s company, and home return’d again.

‘O Royal King of England, your ship’s returned again;
For Wards ship is so strong it never will be ta’ne.’
‘O everlasting!’ says our King, ‘I have lost jewels three,
Which would have gone into the seas and brought proud Ward to me!

‘The first was Lord Clifford, Earl of Cumberland;
The second was the Lord Mountjoy, as you shall understand;
The third was brave Essex, from field would never flee;
Which would ’a gone unto the seas and brought proud Ward to me!’

_THE LAMENTABLE CRIES OF AT LEAST 1500 CHRISTIANS:_

Most of them being Englishmen (now Prisoners in Argiers under the Turkes) begging at Gods hand, that hee would open the eyes of all Christian Kings and Princes, to commiserate the wretched estate of so many captives: and withall to free them from that Turkish slavery, in which both bodies and soules are in danger: with a Petition to the Kings most excellent Maiestie and all Christian Princes.

Not many moones have from their silver bowes
Shot light through all the world, since those sworne foes
To God and all good men ... that hell-borne crew
Of pirates (to whome there’s no villanies new),
Those halfe-Turkes and halfe Christians, who now ride
Like sea-gods (on rough billows in their pride),
Those renegadoes, who (their Christ denying)
Are worse than Turkes, Turkes them in heart defying;
These, these are they, that have from Christians torne,
Of ships, sixescore but one, and the men borne
(To th’ number of a thousand) to th’ Turkes shore,
All they being slaves now tugging at the oare.
Count from what time the worthy Mansfield came
From that divels den (Argiers).... Just since that flame
Of warre went out at sea, in that short space
From thence till now these thieves have held in chase
All ships which pass’d the Straights of Gibraltar,
To rob or sinke them; were they men of warre,
Merchants, or others; and when worst they thrive
And nothing get, yet get they men alive.
O wretched state of Christian soules so taken!
To looke upon whose torments would awaken
Tyrants, to thrust their armes up, through their graves,
To gard from blowes these Christian galley-slaves.
They that could safely stand but on the shoare
To view a sea-fight, heare the cannons roare,
See Turkes boord English ships, whilest Englishmen
Like lyons fight, and fling them o’re.... But when
Numbers of big-boan’d runnagates so swarme,
That not one man of ours dare lift an arme
At a Turkes head, the ship with blood imbrude,
And over-mastered with damn’d multitude,
Should any stand so, and get off unwounded,
They would, to see this, bee with griefe confounded:
But on these following lines fasten your eyes,
Your selves may draw foorth all their miseries.
Being boorded so, and rob’d, then are they tide
On chaines, and drag’d t’ Argiers, to feede the pride
Of a Mahumetan dog (eight in a row)
(Each eighth man to the Argier king must goe),
And th’ eighth part of what’s tane is still his prize;
What men he leaves are any-ones who buyes
And bids most for them, for they then are led
To market, and like beasts sold by the head,
Their masters having liberty by law
To strike, kick, starve them, yet to make them draw
In yoakes, like oxen, and if dead they beate them,
Out are they throwne for beasts and ravens to eate them
He that’s condemn’d to th’ oare hath first his face,
Eyebrowes, and head close shaven (for more disgrace
Cannot betide a Christian). Then, being stript
To th’ girdle (as when roagues are to be whipt),
Chain’d are they to the seates where they sit rowing,
Five in a row together; a Turke going
On a large plancke between them, and though their eyes
Are ready to start out with pulling, he cryes
‘Worke, worke, you Christian curres,’ and though none needs
One blow for loytering, yet his bare back bleeds,
And riseth up in bunches, which the Turke
With a bulls-pizzle gives him, crying still, ‘Worke,
Worke, dog,’ whilest some so faint, at th’ oare th[e]y dye,
Being cast (like dogs) over-boord presently.
Their slavery done at Sea, then are they laid
In dungeons, worse than jayles, poorely arraid,
Fed with course horse-bread, water for their drinke,
And such sometimes puddles cannot worser stinke.
Then if upon a Turkish roague they frowne,
Or give him a crosse word, held are they downe
Oth’ ground upon their backs, whilst on the rim
Of their bare bellies they are forc’d from him
To beare four hundred blowes: their soles oth’ feet
And shinnes like payment now and then doe meet.
Why are the Turkes thus cruell, but to draw
Christians from Christ to their Mahumetan law?
You, who at home in golden pleasures dance,
Wasting both noones and nights in dalliance,
O when these groanes of Christians pierce [y]our eares
To free them, give your charity, and your teares,
Whilst you that are our Christian Princes stil’d
(All jarres amongst your selves being reconcil’d)
Into the field with one knit army come,
To kill this lyon that thus teares Christendome.

_THE HONOUR OF BRISTOL._

Showing how the _Angel Gabriel_ of Bristol fought with three (Spanish) Ships, who boarded us many times, whereon we cleared our decks, and killed five hundred of their men, and wounded many more, and made them flye into Cales, where we lost but three men; to the honour of the _Angel Gabriel_ of Bristol.

To the Tune of _Our Noble King in his Progress_.

Attend you and give ear awhile, and you shall understand
Of a battel fought upon the seas, by a ship of brave command;
The fight it was so famous, that all men’s heart doth fill,
And makes them cry, ‘To sea, _with the Angel Gabriel_!’

The lusty ship of Bristol sail’d out adventurously,
Against the foes of England, their strength with them to try;
Well victual’d, rig’d, and man’d, and good provision still:
Which makes men cry, ‘To sea, _with the Angel Gabriel_!’

The captain, famous Netheway, so was he call’d by name;
The master’s name John Mines, a man of noted fame;
The gunner Thomas Watson, a man of perfect skill:
With other valiant hearts, _in the Angel Gabriel_.

They waving up and down the seas, upon the ocean main:
‘It is not long ago,’ quoth they, ‘since England fought with Spain!
Would we with them might meet, our minds for to fulfill;
We would play a noble bout _with our Angel Gabriel_.’

They had no sooner spoken, but straight appear’d in sight
Three lusty Spanish vessels, of warlike force and might;
With bloody resolution they sought our men to spill,
And vow’d to make a prize of _our Angel Gabriel_.

Then first came up their admiral, themselves for to advance;
In her she bore full forty-eight piece of ordinance;
The next that then came near us was their vice-admiral,
Which shot most furiously at _our Angel Gabriel_.

Our gallant ship had in her full forty fighting men:
With twenty pieces of ordnance we play’d about them then;
And with powder, shot, and bullets we did imploy them still,
And thus began the fight _with our Angel Gabriel_.

Our captain to our master said, ‘Take courage, master bold;’
The master to the seamen said, ‘Stand fast, my hearts of gold;’
The gunner unto all the rest, ‘Brave hearts, be valiant still;
Let us fight in the defence _of our Angel Gabriel_!’

Then we gave them a broadside, which shot their mast asunder,
And tore the bowsprit of their ship, which made the Spaniards wonder;
And caused them for to cry, with voices loud and shrill,
‘Help! help! or else we sink, _by the Angel Gabriel_.’

Yet desperately they boarded us, for all our valiant shot;
Three-score of their best fighting-men upon our decks were got,
And then at their entrance full thirty we did kill,
And thus we clear’d the decks _of the Angel Gabriel_.

With that their three ships boarded us again with might and main,
But still our noble Englishmen cry’d out, ‘A fig for Spain!’
Though seven times they boarded us, at last we shew’d our skill,
And made them feel the force _of our Angel Gabriel_.

Seven hours this fight continued, and many brave men lay dead,
With purple gore and Spanish blood the sea was coloured red;
Five hundred of their men we there outright did kill;
And many more were maim’d _by the Angel Gabriel_.

They seeing of these bloody spoils, the rest made haste away.
For why? they saw it was no boot any longer for to stay;
Then they fled into Cales, and there they must lye still,
For they never more will dare to meet _our Angel Gabriel_.

We had within our English ship but onely three men slain;
And five men hurt, the which, I hope, will soon be well again;
At Bristol we were landed, and let us praise God still,
That thus hath blest our men _and our Angel Gabriel_.

Now let me not forget to speak of the gift given by the owner
Of the _Angel Gabriel_, that many years has known her;
Two hundred pounds in coyn and plate he gave with free good will
Unto them that bravely fought _in the Angel Gabriel_.
[Probably by LAWRENCE PRICE.]

_NEPTUNE TO ENGLAND._

Of thee, great State, the god of waves
In equall wrongs assistance craves,
Defend thyselfe and mee:
For if ore seas there be no sway,
My godhead cleane is tane away,
The scepter pluckt from thee.
Such as ore seas all sovereigntie oppose,
Though seeming friends, to both are truly foes.

If little Venice brings alone
Such waves to her subjection,
As in the Gulfe doe stirre,
What then should great Britannia please,
But rule as ladie ore all seas,
And thou as queen of her?
For sea-dominion may as well be gain’d
By new acquests, as by descent maintain’d.

Goe on, great state, and make it knowne,
Thou never wilt forsake thine owne,
Nor from thy purpose start:
But that thou wilt thy power dilate,
Since narrow seas are found too straight
For thy capacious heart.
So shall thy rule, and mine, have large extent:
Yet not so large, as just and permanent.

_ON HIS MAJESTIES FLEET._

Cease now the talke of wonders, nothing rare
Of floateing ilandes, castles in the aire,
Of wooden walls, graves walkeing, flieing steedes,
Or Trojan horse. The present truth exceeds
Those ancient fables; floating iles great store,
Sent from the British Ile, now guard her shore,
And castles strong without foundation stande
More safe on waters pavement then on lande.
Now wooden walles defend our walles of rocke;
These walles are cittyes too; tooke from the block
Arise those christned frames, which are the health
And moddle of a vaster Commonwealth;
Beyond the Kentish stratagem now ghosts
Of trees not greene doe walk about our coasts,
Which humane art hath made move quick, by death
Inur’d to motion, taught to feed on breath.
Now winged steeds with bridles plac’d behinde,
Leaving no print, accompany the winde,
Their bowells greate with sonns of Mars doth groane
To be delivered into action.
Ride on, Arts liveing creatures, flie and swell
Your wings like angry swans, while wee that dwell
On shore, with prayer and fame [?] encrease the gale
Which Heaven shall breath into each pregnant saile.
Powre out the language of a chastning Jove
That speakes in thunder here, like him above.
Cannot your _Lion_ roare and act her king?
Is shee with all her _Whelpes_ not swift to bringe
Her pray into her den? Is not your _Rose_
Worth lilies three, or any flower that growes?
Your _Honour_ (which is admirall) maintaine;
She leades you forth, come home to her againe.
For sea and fish, if tempests rise, bee free [?].
Give them to what they love, that troublers bee [?].

_UPON THE GREAT SHIP._

1

Old Paul’s steeple, fare thee well,
Thy famous building Ile not tell,
Of that thy lofty little bell
Shall ring.
But I am in another vaine,
Now you shall heare a merry straine,
It is of Royal Soveraigne
I sing.

2

I meane the ship so lately built,
Without, within soe richly gilt;
O never man saw rapier hilt
Soe shine.
I think there’s none since Noah’s Flood
Was ever like to prove soe good;
You never saw thing made of wood
Soe fine.

3

Edgar sitts horse, in glorious wise
As glorious artists could devise,
And under seven kings prostrate lyes.
I’me told
His horse with mettle soe abounds
That he shall shortly scowre the Downes,
And winne, Ile hold, a hundred pounds
Of gold.

4

To tell you of her bredth, her length,
Her height, her depth, her bulk, her strength,
Her anchor’s weight too, and the length
Oth’ cable,
Her guns, her tackle and the rest
_Quæ nunc proscribere longum est_,
It might be counted for a ieast
Or fable;

5

For there be very few will guesse
Her half a mile or little lesse,
Her lanthorne to feast forty messe
Unbidd,
Her mast for to be thrice as high
As Grantham steeple. If I lye
Ask them that saw her, pray, for I
Nere did.

6

To see how lasses flock each day,
And leave their maydenheads by th’ way,
I doubt that some will shortly pay
Dearely;
And most men wives will alsoe goe
[To ’t] whe’r their hussbands will or noe
To meet a freind, I don’t say soe,
Not I.

7

There’s many more will see this sight;
Some call their wives, and they doe right,
But some with others to delight
Are bent.
Thus good and bad and midling some,
To see this ship, to Woolwich come,
This wonder of all Christendome
And Kent.

8

Kent was never conquered yet,
Kent was thought a place most fitt
To build this goodly arke in it,
Soe stronge.
Kent and men of Kent have showne
By sea, by land, that of their owne
Which other countries have not knowne
Soe long.

9

Yet a word or two in merriment
To cheer up some were discontent,
And thought theire mony had bin lent
In vaine;
But now the truth they plainely see,
They all in one consent agree
To double it if need shalbe
Againe.

10

She will be Neptune’s greatest grace;
She vows our chiefest foes to chase,
And Triton with triforked mace
Doth sweare
Noe Remora there shall her stay,
Leviathan must give her way,
And all the divills that this day
Dwell there.

11

The syrens sitt and sweetly sing,
And hold it for a happy thing
That now they shall enioy the King
Oth’ mayne,
And say it’s a most Christian worke
To curb the Pope and scourge the Turke,
And ferret those that theeving lurke
Neer Spaine.

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