Which made our cunning champion Creep down into a well; Where he did think, this dragon would drink, And fo he did in truth; And as he ftoop'd low, he rose up, and cried, Boh! Oh, quoth the dragon, pox take thee, come out, "Befhrew thy foul, thy body's foul, Our politic knight, on the other fide, Crept out upon the brink, And gave the dragon fuch a doufe, He knew not what to think. By cock, quoth he, fay you fo; do you fee? And then at him he let fly, With hand and with foot, and fo 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 fmall. 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, Which made him to reel, and straightway he thought, And thence let him fall: but More of More-Hall, Like a valiant son of Mars, As he came like a lout, fo he turn'd him about, And hit him a kick on the arfe, Oh, quoth the dragon, with a deep figh, Out of his throat of leather: More of More-Hall! O thou rascàl! Would I had feen thee never ; With the thing at thy foot, thou haft prick'd my arfe gut, And I'm quite undone for ever. Murder, Murder, murder, the dragon cried, Had you but miss'd that place, you could Then his head he fhak'd, trembled and quak'd, First on one knee, then on back tumbled he, BALLAD XXII. SIR ANDREW BARTON. W HEN Flora with her fragrant flowers And Neptune with his dainty showers Did walk some pleasure for to see; Where forty merchants he espied, With fifty fail come towards him, But on their knees did thus complain : And robs us of our merchant-ware. Vex'd Vex'd was the king, and turning him, Said to his lords of high degree, To him then fpake king Henry, I fear, my lord, you are too young. And bring afhore with all his might, Or into Scotland he fhall carry me. A hundred men, the king then said, To guide a great ship on the fea; Lord Howard call'd a gunner then, His age My My lord call'd then a bow-man rare, Horfely, quoth he, I must to fea, Of a hundred men to be the head, If twelvescore I mifs one fhillings breadth." Lord Howard then, of courage bold, Though 'twas the ftormy time of year. No more in days than number three, To him Lord Howard call'd out amain, The merchant then made answer foon, My lord, my fhip it doth belong Can't |