It is not strength that always wins, Creep down into a well; Where he did think, this dragon would drink, And so he did in truth; 6 And as he stoop'd low, he rose up, and cried, Boh!” And hit him in the mouth. Oh, (quoth the dragon,) pox take thee, come out, Thou that disturb'st me in my drink :'— And then he turn'd, and s—t at him; Goodlack how he did stink! Beshrew thy soul, thy body's foul, Thy dung smells not like balsam; Thou son of a whore, thou stink'st so sore, 'Sure thy diet is unwholesome.' Our politic knight, on the other side, And gave the dragon such a douse, He knew not what to think. By cock, (quoth he,) say you so; do you see? And then at him he let fly, With hand and with foot, and so they went to't; And the word it was, Hey boys, hey!' Your words, (quoth the dragon,) I don't understand?' Then to it they fell at all, Like two wild boars so fierce, I may Compare great things with small. Two days and a night, with this dragon did fight Our champion on the ground; Though their strength it was great, yet their skill it was neat, They never had one wound. At length the hard earth began for to quake, The dragon gave him such a knock, Which made him to reel, and straightway he thought, To lift him as high as a rock, And thence let him fall: but More of More-Hall, Like a valiant son of Mars, As he came like a lout, so he turn'd him about, Oh! (quoth the dragon, with a deep sigh, 'More of More-Hall! O thou rascàl! 'Would I had seen thee never; With the thing at thy foot, thou hast prick'd my a--e gut, And I'm quite undone for ever. 'Murder, murder, (the dragon cried,) Alack, alack, for grief; 'Had you but miss'd that place, you could 'Have done me no mischief.' Then his head he shak'd, trembled and quak'd, And down he laid and cried; First on one knee, then on back tumbled he, BALLAD XXII. SIR ANDREW BARTON.* WHEN Flora with her fragrant flowers Did walk, some pleasure for to see; Where forty merchants he espied, But on their knees did thus complain : Vex'd was the king, and turning him, Said to his lords of high degree, Have I ne'er a lord within my realm, To him replied Lord Charles Howard, 'I will perform what you command.' *The story of this ballad is to be found in most of the English chronicles under the year 1511. To him then spake king Henry, 'I fear, my lord, you are too young.' 'No whit at all, my liege, (quoth he,) 'I hope to prove in valour strong. 'The Scottish knight I vow to seek, 'In what place soe'er he be, 'And bring ashore with all his might, Or into Scotland he shall carry me.' A hundred men, (the king then said,) 'Out of my realm shall chosen be; 'Besides sailors and ship-boys, 'To guide a great ship on the sea; 'Bowmen and gunners of good skill, Shall for this service chosen be; And they, at thy command and will, In all affairs shall wait on thee.' Lord Howard call'd a gunner then, A gentleman born in Yorkshîre, Horsely, (quoth he,) I must to sea, To seek a traitor with good speed, "Of a hundred bowmen brave, (quoth he,) 'I have chosen thee to be the head.' you, my lord, have chosen me Of a hundred men to be the head, 'Upon the main-mast I'll hanged be, 'If twelve score I miss one shilling's breadth. Lord Howard then, of courage bold, Went to the sea with pleasant chear; Not curb'd with winter's piercing cold, Though 'twas the stormy time of year. Not long he had been on the sea, No more in days than number three, But one Henry Hunt there he espied, A merchant of Newcastle was he, To him Lord Howard call'd out amain, 'Can'st thou show me, (the lord did say,) 'His name is Andrew Barton, knight?' 'As I, my lord, did sail from France, |