TO THE CAMBRO-BRITANS and their Harpe, his Ballad of
AGINCOVRT
Faire stood the Wind for _France_,
When we our Sayles aduance,
Nor now to proue our chance,
Longer will tarry;
But putting to the Mayne,
At _Kaux_, the Mouth of _Sene_,
With all his Martiall Trayne,
Landed King HARRY.
And taking many a Fort,
Furnish'd in Warlike sort, 10
Marcheth tow'rds _Agincourt_,
In happy howre;
Skirmishing day by day,
With those that stop'd his way,
Where the _French_ Gen'rall lay,
With all his Power.
Which in his Hight of Pride,
King HENRY to deride,
His Ransome to prouide
To the King sending. 20
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 braue HENRY then,
Though they to one be ten,
Be not amazed.
Yet haue we well begunne,
Battels so brauely wonne, 30
Haue euer to the Sonne,
By Fame beene raysed.
And, for my Selfe (quoth he),
This my full rest shall be,
_England_ ne'r mourne for Me,
Nor more esteeme me.
Victor I will remaine,
Or on this Earth lie slaine,
Neuer shall Shee sustaine,
Losse to redeeme me.
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