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INCE there's no help, come, let us kiss and part!
Nay, I have done; you get no more of me:
And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart,
That thus so cleanly I myself can free.
Shake hands for ever; cancel all our vows;
And, when we meet at any time again,

THE BATTLE OF AGINCOURT.

Be it not seen, in either of our brows,
That we one jot of former love retain!
Now, at the last gasp of Love's latest breath,
When, his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies;
When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death;
And Innocence is closing up her eyes;

Now, if thou wouldst, when all have given him over,
From death to life, thou mightst him yet recover!

The Battle of Agincourt.

AIR 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 Kause the mouth of Seine,
With all his martial train
Landed King Harry.

And taking many a fort,
Furnished in warlike sort,
Marched towards Agincourt
In happy hour.
Skirmishing day by day

With those that stopped his way,
Where the French gen'ral 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;

THE BATTLE OF AGINCOURT.

And, turning to his men,

Quoth our brave Henry then, "Though they to one be ten, Be not amazèd:

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,
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;
Excester 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;

THE BATTLE OF agincourt.

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 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 fellow starts,
But playing manly parts,

(And like true English hearts)
Stuck close together.

When down their bows they threw,

And forth their Bilboas 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 broadsword brandishing,

Down the French host did ding,

As to o'erwhelm it;

And many a deep wound rent,
His arms with blood besprent,

And many a cruel dent

Bruised his helmet.

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