Oure gracious kyng, that is so good, He batailyd hym ful rially; Stakes he hewe doun in a wood, Beforn our archers pyght them on hy; Oure ordynaunce the Frensshemen gan aspy, They that were ordeynyd for to ryde, They lighted doun with sorwe and cry, And on their feet their gon abyde. _Wot ye right well, &c._ The duke of York thanne full son Before oure kyng he fell on kne, My liege lord, graunt me a bon, For his love that on croys gan die, The fore ward this day that ye graunt me, To be before yow in this feld; Be myn baner sleyn wil y be, Or y will turne my backe, or me yelde. _Wot ye right well, &c._ Gramercy, cosyn, seyde our kyng, Thenk on the right of mery Ingelond; And thanne he gaff hym his blessyng, And bad the duke he sholde up stond; Crist, he seyde, that shop bothe sone and sonde, And art lord and kyng of myght, This day hold over me thin holy hond, And spede me well in al my right. _Wot ye right well, &c._ Help seynt George oure lady knyght, Seynt Edward that is so fre, Oure lady that art Godys modyr bright, And seynt Thomas of Caunterbure; He bad alle men blithe to be, And seyde, Felas, well shall we spede, Every man in his degre, I shall yow quyte full well youre mede. _Wot ye right well, &c._ Oure kyng seyde, Felas, what tyme of day? Sire, thei seyde, it is ner pryme: Go we anon to this jornay, Be the grace of God it is good tyme, For alle the seyntes that lyn in shryne, To God for us they be praieng; The religious of Ingelond all benynge, 'Ora pro nobis' for us they syng. _Wot ye right well, &c._ The kyng knelyd doun in that stounde, And Englysshmen on every syde, And thries there kyssyd the grounde, And on there feet gon glyde: Crist, seyde the kyng, as y am thi knyght, This day me save for Ingelond sake, And lat nevere that good Reme for me be fright, Ne me on lyve this day be take. _Wot ye right well, &c._ Avaunt baner, withoute lettyng. Seynt George before avowe we hyme, The baner of the Trynyte forth ye bryng, And seynte Edward baner at this tyme; Over, he seyde, Lady Hevene Quene, Myn own baner with hire shall be; The Frensshman seyde al be dene, Seynt George all over oure kyng they se. _Wot ye right well, &c._ They triumpyd up full meryly, The grete bataille togyder yede; Oure archiers shotte full hertyly, And made Frensshmen faste to blede; There arwes wente full good sped, Oure enemyes therwith doun gon falle, Thorugh bresplate, habirion, and bassonet yede, Slayn there were xj thousand on a rowe alle. _Wot ye right well, &c._ Oure gracious kyng men myghte knowe, That day he faught withe his owne hond, He sparyd nother heigh no lowe, There was no man his dynt myght stond; There was nevere no kyng yit in this lond, That evere dyd better in a day, Therfore all Ingelond may synge oo song, 'Laus Deo' we may well say. _Wot ye right well, &c._