"Fight on, my men," Sir Andrew sayes, "A little Ime hurt, but yett not slaine; Ile but lye downe and bleede a while,

And then Ile rise and fight againe. Fight on, my men," Sir Andrew sayes, "And never flinche before the foe; And stand fast by St. Andrewes crosse, Untill you hear my whistle blowe."

125

They never heard his whistle blow,

Which made their hearts waxe sore adread:

130

Then Horseley sayd, " Aboard, my lord,

For well I wott Sir Andrew's dead."

They boarded then his noble shipp,

They boarded it with might and maine Eighteen score Scots alive they found,

The rest were either maimed or slaine.

;

135

Lord Howard tooke a sword in hand,

And off he smote Sir Andrewes head;

"I must have left England many a daye,

If thou wert alive as thou art dead."

140

He caused his body to be cast

Over the hatchbord into the sea,

And about his middle three hundred crownes: "Wherever thou land this will bury thee."

Thus from the warres Lord Howard came,

145

And backe he sayled ore the maine; With mickle joy and triumphing

Into Thames mouth he came againe.

Lord Howard then a letter wrote,

And sealed it with seale and ring;

"Such a noble prize have I brought to Your Grace

As never did subject to a king.

150

"Sir Andrewes shipp I bring with mee,

A braver shipp was never none;

Nowe hath Your Grace two shipps of warr,

155

Before in England was but one."

King Henryes grace with royall cheere

Welcomed the noble Howard home;

"And where," said he "is this rover stout,

That I myselfe may give the doome ?"

160

"The rover, he is safe, my leige,

Full many a fadom 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

165

For the victory wee have wonne;

These are William Horseley, Henry Hunt,
And Peter Simon, and his sonne.'

"To Henry Hunt," the king then sayd, "In lieu of what was from thee tane,

170

A noble a day now thou shalt have,
Sir Andrewes jewels and his chayne.
And Horseley thou shalt be a knight,

And lands and livings shalt have store; Howard shall be Erle Surrye hight,

175

Then in came the queene with ladyes fair
To see Sir Andrewe Barton, knight;

They weend that hee were brought on shore,
And thought to have seen a gallant sight.

185

But when they see his deadlye face,

And eyes soe hollow in his head,

'I wold give," quoth the king, "a thousand markes, This man were alive as hee is dead.

Yett for the manfull part hee playd,

Which fought soe well with heart and hand,

His men shall have twelvepence a day,

Till they come to my brother kings high land."

V. 175, 6, ... Erle of Nottingham, And soe was never, &c. MS.

190

XIII.

Lady Anne Bothwell's Lament.1

A SCOTTISH SONG.

The subject of this pathetic ballad the Editor once thought might possibly relate to the Earl of Bothwell, and his desertion of his wife, Lady Jean Gordon, to make room for his marriage with the Queen of Scots: but this opinion he now believes to be groundless; indeed Earl Bothwell's age, which was upwards of 60 at the time of that marriage, renders it unlikely that he should be the object of so warm a passion as this elegy supposes. He has been since informed, that it entirely refers to a private story: A young lady of the name of Bothwell, or rather Boswell, having been, together with her child, deserted by her husband or lover, composed these affecting lines herself, which here are given from a copy in the Editor's folio MS., corrected by another in Allan Ramsay's Miscellany.

BALOW, my babe, lye still and sleipe!
It grieves me sair to see thee weipe:
If thoust be silent, Ise be glad,
Thy maining maks my heart ful sad.
Balow, my boy, thy mothers joy,
Thy father breides me great annoy.

Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe,
It grieves me sair to see thee weepe.

Whan he began to court my luve,
And with his sugred wordes2 to muve,
His faynings fals and flattering cheire
To me that time did not appeire :
But now I see, most cruell hee
Cares neither for my babe nor mee.

Balow, &c.

5

10

It is now an established fact that the unhappy Lady Anne was daughter to Bothwell, Bishop of Orkney. The faithless "father" was the lady's cousin, Alexander Erskine, son to the Earl of Mar. While in the service of the Covenanters, he came to his death in Douglass Castle, 1640. See Child's English and Scottish Ballads, IV., 123.-Editor.

2 When sugar was first imported into Europe, it was a very great dainty; and therefore the epithet sugred is used by all our old writers metaphorically, to express extreme and delicate sweetness.-See above, p. 372, v. 10. Sugar at present is cheap and common; and therefore suggests now a coarse and vulgar idea.

Lye still, my darling, sleipe a while,
And when thou wakest, sweitly smile :
But smile not, as thy father did,
To cozen maids; nay God forbid !
But yett I feire, thou wilt gae neire
Thy fatheris hart and face to beire.

Balow, &c.

I cannae chuse, but ever will
Be luving to thy father still:
Whair-eir he gae, whair-eir he ryde,
My luve with him doth still abyde:
In weil or wae, whair-eir he gae,
Mine hart can neire depart him frae.

Balow, &c.

But doe not, doe not, prettie mine,
To faynings fals thine hart incline;
Be loyal to thy luver trew,
And nevir change hir for a new :
If gude or faire, of hir have care,
For womens banning's wonderous sair.

Balow, &c.

Bairne, sin thy cruel father is gane,

Thy winsome smiles maun eise my paine;
My babe and I'll together live,

He'll comfort me when cares doe grieve:
My babe and I right saft will ly,

And quite forgeit man's cruelty.

Balow, &c.

Fareweil, fareweil, thou falsest youth,
That evir kist a womans mouth!
I wish all maidės be warnd by mee
Nevir to trust man's curtesy ;
For if we doe bot chance to bow,
They'll use us then they care not how.

Balow, my babe, ly stil, and sleipe,
It grives me sair to see thee weipe.

VOL. I.

20

XIV.

The Murder of the King of Scots.

The catastrophe of Henry Stewart, Lord Darnley, the unfortunate husband of Mary, Queen of Scots, is the subject of this ballad. It is here related in that partial, imperfect manner, in which such an event would naturally strike the subjects of another kingdom, of which he was a native. Henry appears to have been a vain, capricious, worthless young man, of weak understanding and dissolute morals. But the beauty of his person and the inexperience of his youth, would dispose mankind to treat him with an indulgence, which the cruelty of his murder would afterwards convert into the most tender pity and regret; and then imagination would not fail to adorn his memory with all those virtues he ought to have possessed. This will account for the extravagant eulogium bestowed upon him in the first stanza, &c.

Henry, Lord Darnley was the eldest son of the Earl of Lennox, by the Lady Margaret Douglas, niece of Henry VIII. and daughter of Margaret, Queen of Scotland, by the Earl of Angus, whom that princess married after the death of James IV. Darnley, who had been born and educated in England, was but in his 21st year when he was murdered, Feb. 9, 1567-8. This crime was perpetrated by the Earl of Bothwell, not out of respect to the memory of Rizzio, but in order to pave the way for his own marriage with the queen.

This ballad (printed, with a few corrections, from the Editor's folio MS.) seems to have been written soon after Mary's escape into England in 1568, see v. 65. It will be remembered at v. 5, that this princess was Queen-dowager of France, having been first married to Francis II., who died Dec. 4, 1560.

WOE worth, woe worth thee, false Scotlànde!
For thou hast ever wrought by sleight;
The worthyest prince that ever was borne,
You hanged under a cloud by night.

The Queene of France a letter wrote,

And sealed itt with harte and ringe;

And bade him come Scotland within,
And shee would marry and crowne him kinge.

To be a king is a pleasant thing,

To bee a prince unto a peere:

But you have heard, and soe have I too,
A man may well buy gold too deare.