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 Stuck 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 bilbows 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 broad sword brandishing, 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 Bruised his helmet. Glo'ster, that duke so good, Next of the royal blood, For famous England stood, With his brave brother; Clarence, in steel so bright, Though but a maiden knight, Yet in that furious fight Scarce such another. Warwick in blood did wade, Oxford the foe invade, And cruel slaughter made, Still as they ran up; Suffolk his axe did ply, Beaumont and Willoughby Bare them right doughtily, Ferrers and Fanhope. 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? SONG OF THE ENGLISH BOWMEN ANONYMOUS 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! WINTER WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 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.