Part 16

11. In the evenynge, the frenche kynge, who had lefte about hym no more than a threscore persons, one and other, whereof Sir John of Heynalt was one, who had remounted ones the kynge, for his horse was slayne with an arowe, th[=a] sayde to the kynge, sir, departe hense, for it is tyme, lese not yourselfe wylfully, if ye have losse at this tyme, ye shall recover it agaynt another season, and soo he took the kynge's horse by the brydell, and ledde hym away in a maner perforce; than the kyng rode tyll he came to the castell of Broy. The gate was closed, because it was by that tyme darke; than the kynge called the captayne, who came to the walles, and sayd, Who is that calleth there this tyme of night? than the kynge sayde, open your gate quickly, for this is the fortune of Fraunce; the captayne knewe than it was the kyng, and opyned the gate, and let downe the bridge; than the kyng entred, and he had with hym but fyve baronnes, Sir Johan of Heynault, Sir Charles of Monmorency, the lorde of Beaureive, the lorde Dobegny, and the lorde of Mountfort; the kynge wolde not tary there, but dr[=a]ke and departed thense about mydnyght, and so rode by suche guydes as knewe the country, tyll he came in the mornynge to Anyeuse, and then he rested. This saturday the englysshmen never departed for their batayls for chasynge of any man, but kept styll their felde, and ever defended themselfe agaynst all such as came to assayle them; the batayle ended about evynsonge tyme.

_XLVI.--THE BATTLE OF AGINCOURT._

1. 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.

2. And taking many a fort, Furnish'd in warlike sort, March'd toward Agincourt In happy hour; Skirmishing day by day With those that stop'd the way, Where the French gen'ral lay With all his power.

3. 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.

4. And turning to his men, Quoth our brave Henry then, Though they be one to ten, Be not amazed. Yet, have we well begun, Battles so bravely won Have ever to the sun By fame been raised.

5. 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.

6. Poictiers and Cressy tell, When most their pride did swell, Under our swords they fell, No less our skill is, Than when our grandsire great, Claiming the regal seat, By many a warlike feat, Lop'd the French lilies.

7. The Duke of York so dread The eager vanward led; With the main Henry sped Amongst his henchmen. Excester had the rear, A braver man not there; O Lord, how hot they were On the false Frenchmen!

8. They now to fight are gone, Armor on armor 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.

9. Well it thine age became, O noble Erpingham, Which did the signal aim To our hid forces; When from a meadow by, Like a storm suddenly, The English archery Struck the French horses.

10. With Spanish yew so strong, Arrows a cloth-yard long, That like to serpents stung, Piercing the weather; None from his fellow starts, But playing manly parts, And, like true English hearts, Stuck close together.

11. When down their bows they threw And forth their bilbows drew, And on the French they flew; Not one was tardy. Arms from their shoulders sent, Scalps to the teeth were rent, Down the French peasants went, Our men were hardy.

12. This while our noble king, His broadsword 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 Bruisèd his helmet.

13. Glo'ster, that duke so good, Next of the royal blood, For famous English stood, With his brave brother, Clarence, in steel so bright, Though but a maiden knight, Yet in that furious fight Scarce such another.

14. 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; Bore them right doughtily, Ferrers and Fanhope.

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

_Michael Drayton._

THE END.

Transcriber's Note

* Punctuation errors have been corrected.

* Footnotes have been moved to the end of the respective story.

* Hyphenation of "housetops" and "house-tops" left as printed.

* Pg 51 Corrected spelling of "breastplace" to "breastplate" in "... upon Orlando's breastplace that his sword ..."

* Pg 137 Corrected spelling of "acccess" to "access" in "... might have acccess to them"

* Pg 148 Corrected spelling of "forescore" to "fourscore" in "... on the left, and forescore on the ..."

* Pg 176 Corrected spelling of "Treves" to "Trèves" in "... Roman road from Treves as far as the ..."