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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=459016" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Battle Of Agincourt</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Fair stood the wind for France<br>When we our sails advance,<br>Nor now to prove our chance<br>Longer will tarry;<br>But putting to the main,<br>At Caux, the mouth of Seine,<br>With all his martial train,<br>Landed King Harry.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And taking many a fort,<br>Furnished in warlike sort,<br>Marcheth towards Agincourt<br>In happy hour;<br>Skirmishing day by day<br>With those that stopped his way,<br>Where the French gen'ral lay<br>With all his power;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Which, in his height of pride,<br>King Henry to deride,<br>His ransom to provide<br>Unto him sending;<br>Which he neglects the while,<br>As from a nation vile,<br>Yet with an angry smile<br>Their fall portending.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And turning to his men,<br>Quoth our brave Henry then,<br>&quot;Though they to one be ten,<br>Be not amazed.<br>Yet have we well begun,<br>Battles so bravely won<br>Have ever to the sun<br>By fame been raised.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;And for myself (quoth he),<br>This my full rest shall be;<br>England ne'er mourn for me,<br>Nor more esteem me.<br>Victor I will remain,<br>Or on this earth lie slain;<br>Never shall she sustain<br>Loss to redeem me.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;Poitiers and Cressy tell,<br>When most their pride did swell,<br>Under our swords they fell;<br>No less our skill is<br>Than when our grandsire great,<br>Claiming the regal seat,<br>By many a warlike feat<br>Lopped the French lilies.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Duke of York so dread<br>The eager vaward led;<br>With the main Henry sped<br>Amongst his henchmen.<br>Exeter had the rear,<br>A braver man not there;&mdash; <br>O Lord, how hot they were<br>On the false Frenchmen!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They now to fight are gone,<br>Armour on armour shone,<br>Drum now to drum did groan,<br>To hear was wonder;<br>That with the cries they make<br>The very earth did shake;<br>Trumpet to trumpet spake,<br>Thunder to thunder.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Well it thine age became,<br>O noble Erpingham,<br>Which didst the signal aim<br>To our hid forces!<br>When from a meadow by,<br>Like a storm suddenly,<br>The English archery<br>Stuck the French horses.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">With Spanish yew so strong,<br>Arrows a cloth-yard long,<br>That like to serpents stung,<br>Piercing the weather;<br>None from his fellow starts,<br>But, playing manly parts,<br>And like true English hearts,<br>Stuck close together.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When down their bows they threw,<br>And forth their bilbos drew,<br>And on the French they flew,<br>Not one was tardy;<br>Arms were from shoulders sent,<br>Scalps to the teeth were rent,<br>Down the French peasants went&mdash; <br>Our men were hardy!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">This while our noble king,<br>His broadsword brandishing,<br>Down the French host did ding,<br>As to o'erwhelm it;<br>And many a deep wound lent,<br>His arms with blood besprent,<br>And many a cruel dent<br>Bruised his helmet.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Gloucester, that duke so good,<br>Next of the royal blood,<br>For famous England stood<br>With his brave brother;<br>Clarence, in steel so bright,<br>Though but a maiden knight,<br>Yet in that furious fight<br>Scarce such another.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Warwick in blood did wade,<br>Oxford the foe invade,<br>And cruel slaughter made<br>Still as they ran up;<br>Suffolk his axe did ply,<br>Beaumont and Willoughby<br>Bare them right doughtily,<br>Ferrers and Fanhope.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Upon Saint Crispin's Day<br>Fought was this noble fray,<br>Which fame did not delay<br>To England to carry.<br>O, when shall English men<br>With such acts fill a pen;<br>Or England breed again<br>Such a King Harry?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Michael+Drayton">Michael Drayton</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=459016" data-title="The Battle Of Agincourt de Michael Drayton" data-description="Fair stood the wind for France
When we our sails advance,
Nor now to prove our chance
Longer will tarry;
But putting to the main,
At Caux, the mouth of Seine,
With all his martial train,
Landed King Harry.

And taking many a fort,
Furnished in war..."></div>
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