Upon Saint Crispin's day Fought was this noble fray, Which fame did not delay To England to carry; O when shall Englishmen With such acts fill a pen, Or England breed again Such a King Harry? _ANONYMOUS_ SONG OF THE ENGLISH BOWMEN AGINCOURT, Agincourt! Know ye not Agincourt, Where English slew and hurt All their French foemen? With their pikes and bills brown, How the French were beat down, Shot by our Bowmen? Agincourt, Agincourt! Know ye not Agincourt, Never to be forgot, Or known to no men? Where English cloth-yard arrows Killed the French like tame sparrows, Slain by our Bowmen? Agincourt, Agincourt! Know ye not Agincourt? English of every sort, High men and low men, Fought that day wondrous well, All our old stories tell, Thanks to our Bowmen! Agincourt, Agincourt! Know ye not Agincourt? Where our fifth Harry taught Frenchmen to know men: And, when the day was done, Thousands there fell to one Good English Bowman! Agincourt, Agincourt! Know ye not Agincourt? Dear was the vict'ry bought By fifty yeomen. Ask any English wench, They were worth all the French, Rare English Bowmen! _WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE_ WINTER WHEN icicles hang by the wall, And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, And Tom bears logs into the hall, And milk comes frozen home in pail; When blood is nipt, and ways be foul, Then nightly sings the staring owl Tu-whit! Tu-who! A merry note! While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. When all about the wind doth blow, And coughing drowns the parson's saw, And birds sit brooding in the snow, And Marian's nose looks red and raw; When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, Then nightly sings the staring owl Tu-whit! Tu-who! A merry note! While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. INGRATITUDE Brow, blow, thou winter wind, Thou art not so unkind As man's ingratitude; Thy tooth is not so keen, Because thou art not seen, Although thy breath be rude. Heigh, ho! sing heigh ho! unto the green holly: Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly: Then heigh, ho, the holly! This life is most jolly. Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, That dost not bite so nigh As benefits forgot: Though thou the waters warp, Thy sting is not so sharp As friend remember'd not. Heigh, ho! sing heigh ho! unto the green holly: Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly: Then heigh, ho, the holly! This life is most jolly. FIDELE FEAR no more the heat o' the sun Nor the furious winter's rages; Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone and ta'en thy wages; Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. Fear no more the frown o' the great, Thou art past the tyrant's stroke; Care no more to clothe and eat; To thee the reed is as the oak: The sceptre, learning, physic, must All follow this, and come to dust. Fear no more the lightning-flash Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone; Fear not slander, censure rash; Thou hast finish'd joy and moan: All lovers young, all lovers must Consign to thee, and come to dust.