Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1918.djvu/205

 MICHAEL DRAYTON

Skirmishing day by day With those that stopp'd 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

Unto him sending; Which he neglects the while As from a nation vile, Yet with an angry smile

Their fall portending.

And turning to his men, Quoth our brave Henry then, 'Though they to one be ten

Be not amazed Yet have we well begun; Battles so bravely won Have ever to the sun

By fame been raised.

This my full rest shall be. England ne'er mourn for me
 * And for myself (quoth he):

Nor more esteem me: Victor I will remain Or on this earth lie slain, Never shall she sustain

Loss to redeem me.

'Poitiers and Cressy tell,

When most their pride did swell,

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