Michael Drayton

Ballad of
Agincourt

Fair stood the wind for France,
When we our sails advance,
Nor now to prove our chance
Longer will tarry;

But putting to the main

At Kaux, the mouth of Seine,
With all his martial train
Landed King Harry.

And taking many a fort
Furnished in warlike sort,
Marcheth towards Agincourt
In happy hour;

Skirmishing day by day

With those that stopped his way
Where the French general lay
With all his power.

Which in his height of pride
King Henry to deride,

His ransom to provide

To the king sending;
Which he neglects the while
As from a nation vile,
Yet with an angry smile
Their fall portending.

And turning to his men
Quoth our brave Henry then:
“Though they to one be ten,
Be not amazed:

Yet have we well begun,
Battles so bravely won

Have ever to the sun

By fame been raised.

"And for myself (quoth he)
This my full rest shall be,
England ne'er mourn for me
Nor more esteem me:

Victor I will remain

Or on this earth lie slain,

Never shall she sustain

Loss to redeem me.

"Poitiers and Cressy tell,

When most their pride did swell,

BALLAD OF AGINCOURT

Under our swords they fell:
No less our skill is

Than when our grandsire great,
Claiming the regal seat,
By many a warlike feat

Lopped the French Lilies."

The Duke of York so dread
The eager vaward led;
With the main Henry sped
Amongst his henchmen;

Exeter had the rear,

A braver man not there;

O Lord, how hot they were
On the false Frenchmen!

They now to fight are gone;
Armour on armour shone,
Drum now to drum did groan:
To hear was wonder.

That with the cries they make
The very earth did shake;
Trumpet to trumpet spake,
Thunder to thunder.

Well it thine age became,
O noble Erpingham,
Which did'st the signal aim
To our hid forces;

When from a meadow by,
Like a storm suddenly,
The English archery

Struck the French horses,

With Spanish yew so strong,
Arrows a cloth-yard long,
That like to serpents stung
Piercing the weather;

None from his fellows starts,
But playing manly parts,
And like true English hearts,
Stuck close together.

When down their bows they threw
And forth their bilboes drew
And on the French they flew,
Not one was tardy;

Arms were from shoulders sent,
Scalps to the teeth were rent,
Down the French peasants went,
Our men were hardy.

This while our noble king,
His broad-sword brandishing,

Down the French host did ding,
As to o'erwhelm it;

And many a deep wound lent,
His arms with blood besprent,
And many a cruel dent

Bruised his helmet.

BALLAD OF AGINCOURT

Gloster, that duke so good,
Next of the royal blood,
For famous England stood

With his brave brother;
Clarence, in steel so bright,
Though but a maiden knight,
Yet in that furious fight
Scarce such another.

Warwick in blood did wade,
Oxford the foe invade,
And cruel slaughter made
Still as they ran up:

Suffolk his axe did ply,
Beaumont and Willoughby
Bare them right doughtily,
Ferrers and Fanhope.

Upon Saint Crispin's day
Fought was this noble fray
Which fame did not delay
To England to carry:
O when shall English men
With such acts fill a pen,
Or England breed again
Such a King Harry!