Your master is young, and of tender age,
Not fit to come into my degree;
I'll send him home some tennis-balls
That with them he may learn for to play.
Away then goes this lovely page,
As fast, as fast as he could hie;
And, when he came to our gracious King,
He fell all down on his bended knee.
What news, what news, my trusty page?
What news, what news dost thou bring to me?
I bring such news from the King of France,
That you and he can never agree.
He says you are young, and of tender age,
Not fit to come up to his degree;
He has sent you home some tennis-balls,
That with them you may learn for to play.
Oh! then bespoke our noble King,
A solemn vow then vowed he;
I'll promise him such English balls
As in French land he ne'er did see.
Go! call up Cheshire and Lancashire,
And Derby hills that are so free;
But neither married man, nor widow's son,
No widow's curse shall go with me!
They called up Cheshire and Lancashire,
And Derby hills that are so free;
But neither married man nor widow's son,
Yet they had a right good company.
He called unto him his merry men all,
And numbered them by three and three,
Until their number it did amount
To thirty thousand stout men and three.
Away then marched they into French land,
With drums and fifes so merrily;
Then out and spoke the King of France,
Lo! here comes proud King Henrie!
The first that fired, it was the French,
They killed our Englishmen so free;
But we killed ten thousand of the French,
And the rest of them they did run away.