And tell the pleasant prince,--this mock of his Hath turn'd his balls to gun stones;[145] and his soul Shall stand sore charged for the wasteful vengeance That shall fly with them:" _Henry the Fifth_, Act I. Scene II. [Footnote 145: Thus Lydgate, _infra_, "For they shall play with Harflete, A game at tynes, as y wene, Mine engynes that bethe so kene They shall be sett besyde this hill, Over all Harflew that they may sene For to loke if they play well; Go we to game be Godys grace, Myne children ben redy everych on Every greet gonne that there was, In his mouth he hadde a ston." But Shakspeare's expressions are still more similar to those of an inedited Chronicler of the period: "And whan the kyng had hard ther wordis and the answere of the dolphynne, he was wondre sore agreved and right evell assayd towarde the Frensshmen, and toward the kyng and the Dolphynne, and thought to avenge hym upon them as sone as Good wold send hym grace and myght, and anon lette make tenys ballis for the Dolpynne in all the hast that they myght be made; _and they were grete gonne stones for the Dolpynne to play wythall_." _Cottonian MSS._ _Claudius_ A. viii.] But besides the historical information with which the poem abounds, and which is corroborated by the best authorities, it cannot fail to be considered of much interest, from the description of the magnificent reception of the king into London, after his return from France. A POEM BY JOHN LYDGATE, MONK OF BURY, DESCRIBING THE EXPEDITION OF HENRY THE FIFTH INTO FRANCE IN 1415, THE BATTLE OF AGINCOURT, AND THE KING'S RECEPTION INTO LONDON ON HIS RETURN. [_Harl. MSS._ 565.] God that all this world gan make And dyed for us on a tre, Save Ingelond for Mary sake, Sothfast God in Trinyte; And kepe oure kyng that is so free, That is gracious and good with all, And graunt hym evermore the gree, Curteys Crist oure kynge ryall. Oure kyng sente into France ful rathe, Hys bassatours bothe faire and free; His owne right for to have, That is, Gyan and Normande; He bad delyvre that his schulde be, All that oughte kyng Edward, Or ellys tell hym certeynle, He itt gette with dynt of swerd. _Wot ye right well that thus it was, Gloria tibi Trinitas._ And than answerde the dolfyn bold To oure bassatours sone ageyn, Me thinke youre kyng he is nought old, No werrys for to maynteyn; Grete well youre kyng, he seyde, so yonge That is bothe gentill and small; A tonne of tenys ballys I shall hym sende, For to pleye hym with all. _Wot ye right well, &c._ A dien Sire, seide oure lordis alle, For there they wolde no longer lende: They token there leve, bothe grete and smalle, And hom to Ingelond they gum wende; And thanne they sette the tale on ende, All that the Dolfyn to them gon say; I schal hym thanke thanne, seyde our kynge, Be the grace of God if that y may. _Wot ye right well, &c._