With Spanish Ewgh so strong,
Arrowes 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,
80Stuck close together.
When downe their Bowes they threw,
And forth their Bilbowes drew,
And on the French they flew,
Not one was tardie;
Armes were from shoulders sent,
Scalpes to the Teeth were rent,
Downe the French Pesants went,
Our Men were hardie.
This while our Noble King,
90His broad Sword brandishing,
Downe the French Hoast did ding,
As to o'r-whelme it;
And many a deepe Wound lent,
His Armes with Bloud besprent,
And many a cruell Dent
Bruised his Helmet.
Gloster, that Duke so good,
Next of the Royall Blood,
For famous England stood,
100With his braue Brother;
Clarence, in Steele so bright,
Though but a Maiden Knight,
Yet in that furious Fight,
Scarce such another,
Warwick in Bloud did wade,
Oxford the Foe inuade,
And cruell slaughter made,
Still as they ran vp;
Svffolke his Axe did ply,
110Beavmont and Willovghby
Bare them right doughtily,
Ferrers and Fanhope.
Vpon Saint Crispin's day
Fought was this Noble Fray,
Which Fame did not delay,
To England to carry;
O, when shall English Men
With such Acts fill a Pen,
Or England breed againe,
120Such a King Harry?
