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