And turning to his men, 25 Quoth our brave Henry then, ‘Though they to one be ten, Be not amazèd. Yet have we well begun, Battles so bravely won 30 Have ever to the sun By fame been raisèd. ‘And for myself,’ quoth he, ‘This my full rest shall be; England ne’er mourn for me, 35 Nor more esteem me. Victor I will remain, Or on this earth lie slain, Never shall she sustain Loss to redeem me. 40 ‘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, 45 Claiming the regal seat By many a warlike feat, Lopped the French lilies.’ The Duke of York so dread, The eager vaward led; 50 With the main Henry sped, Amongst his henchmen. Exeter had the rear, A braver man not there, O Lord! how hot they were 55 On the false Frenchmen! They now to fight are gone, Armour on armour shone, Drum now to drum did groan, To hear was wonder; 60 That with the cries they make, The very earth did shake, Trumpet to trumpet spake, Thunder to thunder. Well it thine age became, 65 O noble Erpingham Which did the signal aim To our hid forces; When from a meadow by, Like a storm suddenly, 70 The English archery Stuck the French horses. With Spanish yew so strong, Arrows a cloth-yard long, That like to serpents stung, 75 Piercing the weather; None from his fellow starts, But playing manly parts, And like true English hearts, Stuck close together. 80 When down their bows they threw, And forth their bilbows drew, And on the French they flew; Not one was tardy; Arms were from shoulders sent; 85 Scalps to the teeth were rent, Down the French peasants went, Our men were hardy. This while our noble king, His broad sword brandishing, 90 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 95 Bruisèd his helmet.