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 DRAYTON

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 bilbos 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 broadsword 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 !

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