'Sir Andrew is not our king's friend;
He hoped to have undone me yesternight,
But I hope I have quit him well in the end.'

51.
'Ever alas!' said Sir Andrew Barton,
'What should a man either think or say?
Yonder false thief is my strongest enemy,
Who was my prisoner but yesterday.

52.
'Come hither to me, thou Gordon good,
And be thou ready at my call,
And I will give thee three hundred pound
If thou wilt let my beams down fall.'

53.
With that he swarved the mainmast tree,
So did he it with might and main;
Horsley, with a bearing arrow,
Strake the Gordon through the brain.

54.
And he fell into the hatches again,
And sore of this wound that he did bleed;
Then word went through Sir Andrew's men
That the Gordon he was dead.

55.
'Come hither to me, James Hamilton,
Thou art my sister's son, I have no more;
I will give thee six hundred pound
If thou will let my beams down fall.'

56.
With that he swarved the mainmast tree,
So did he it with might and main;
Horsley, with another broad arrow,
Strake the yeoman through the brain.

57.
That he fell down to the hatches again;
Sore of his wound that he did bleed.
Covetousness gets no gain,
It is very true as the Welshman said.

58.
But when he saw his sister's son slain,
Lord! in his heart he was not well.
'Go fetch me down my armour of proof,
For I will to the top-castle myself.

59.
'Go fetch me down my armour of proof,
For it is gilded with gold so clear;
God be with my brother, John of Barton!
Amongst the Portingales he did it wear.'

60.
But when he had his armour of proof,
And on his body he had it on,
Every man that looked at him
Said, gun nor arrow he need fear none.

61.
'Come hither, Horsley,' says my lord Howard,
'And look your shaft that it go right;
Shoot a good shoot in the time of need,
And for thy shooting thou'st be made a knight.'

62.
'I'll do my best,' says Horsley then,
'Your honour shall see before I go;
If I should be hanged at your mainmast,
I have in my ship but arrows two.'

63.
But at Sir Andrew he shot then;
He made sure to hit his mark;
Under the spole of his right arm
He smote Sir Andrew quite through the heart.

64.
Yet from the tree he would not start,
But he clinged to it with might and main;
Under