‘Come hither to me, James Hamilton,
Thou’rt my sister’s son, I have no more;
I will give thee six hundred pound
If thou wilt let my beames downe fall.’
LV
With that he swarm’d the main-mast tree,
Soe did he it with might and main:
Horsley, with another broad arrow,
Strake the yeaman thoro’ the brain.
LVI
That he fell downe to the hatches againe;
Sore of his wound that hee did bleed,
Covetousness gets no gaine,
It is very true, as the Welshman said.
LVII
But when he saw his nephew slaine,
Lord! in his heart he was not well!
‘Go fetch me downe my armour of proof,
For I will to the topcastle mysell.
LVIII
‘Go fetch me downe my armour of proof,
For it is gilded with gold so cleere;
God be with my brother, John of Barton!
Amongst the Portingalls he did it weare.’