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 DRAYTON

That every wretch, pining and pale before, Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks. A largess universal like the sun His liberal eye doth give to every one, Thawing cold fear, that mean and gentle all, Behold, as may unworthiness define, A little touch of Harry in the night And so our scene must to the battle fly.

Shakespeare.

THE BATTLE

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 warlike sort, Marched towards Agincourt

In happy hour, Skirmishing day by day With those that stopped his way, Where the French gen'ral lay

With all his power : Which, in his height of pride, King Henry to deride, His ransom to provide

To the king sending;

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