‘I have done a good turne,’ sayes Henery Hunt;
‘Sir Andrew is not our King’s friend;
He hoped t’ have undone me yesternight,
But I hope I have quit him well in the end.’
L
‘Ever alas!’ sayd Sir Andrew Barton,
‘What sho’ld a man either thinke or say?
Yonder false thief is my strongest enemy,
Who was my prisoner but yesterday.
LI
‘Come hither to me, thou Gourden good,
And be thou ready at my call,
And I will give thee three hundred pound
If thou wilt let my beames downe fall.’
LII
With that hee swarm’d[1149] the main-mast tree,
Soe did he it with might and maine;
But Horsley, with a bearing arrow[1150],
Stroke the Gourden through the braine.
LIII
And he fell into the hatches againe,
And sore of his wound that he did bleed;
Then word went through Sir Andrew’s men,
How that the Gourden he was dead.