Michael Drayton[1s6j-1631]
¶68 AgincourtFair stood the wind for FranceWhen we our sails advance,Nor now to prove our chanceLonger will tarry;[223]But putting to the main,At Caux, the mouth of Seine,With all his martial trainLanded King Harry.
¶And taking many a fort,Furnish'd in warlike sort,Marcheth tow'rds AgincourtIn happy hour;Skirmishing day by dayWith those that stopp'd his way,Where the French gen'ral layWith all his power.
¶Which, in his height of pride.King Henry to deride.His ransom to provideUnto him sending;Which he neglects the whileAs from a nation vile.Yet with an angry smileTheir fall portending.
¶And turning to his men,Quoth our brave Henry then,'Though they to one be tenBe not amazed:Yet have we well begun;Battles so bravely wonHave ever to the sunBy fame been raised.
¶'And for myself (quoth he)This my full rest shall be:England ne'er mourn fpr meNor more esteem me:Victor I will remainOr on this earth lie slain.Never shall she sustainLoss to redeem me.[224]'Poitiers and Cressy tell,When most their pride did swell,Under our swords they fell:No less our skill isThan when our grandsire great,Claiming the regal seat,By many a warlike featLopp'd the French lilies.'
¶The Duke of York so dreadThe eager vaward led;With the main Henry spedAmong his henchmen.Excester had the rear,A braver man not there;O Lord, how hot they wereOn the false Frenchmen!
¶They now to fight are gone,Armour on armour shone,Drum now to drum did groan,To hear was wonder.That with the cries they makeThe very earth did shake:Trumpet to trumpet spake.Thunder to thunder.
¶Well it thine age became,O noble Erpingham,Which didst the signal aimTo our hid forces!When from a meadow by.Like a storm suddenlyThe English archeryStuck the French horses.
¶With Spanish yew so strong,Arrows a cloth-yard longThat like to serpents stung,Piercing the weather;[225]None from his fellow starts,But playing manly parts,And like true English heartsStuck 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 dingAs to o'erwhelm it;And many a deep wound lent.His arms with blood besprent,And many a cruel dentBruised his helmet.
¶Gloster, that duke so good.Next of the royal blood.For famous England stoodWith his brave brother;Clarence, in steel so bright,Though but a maiden knight.Yet in that furious fightScarce such another.
¶Warwick in blood did wade,Oxford the foe invade.And cruel slaughter madeStill as they ran up;Suffolk his axe did ply,Beaumont and WilloughbyBare them right doughtily,Ferrers and Fanhope.[226]Upon Saint Crispin's DayFought was this noble fray,Which fame did not delayTo England to carry;O when shall English menWith such acts fill a pen?Or England breed againSuch a King Harry?
¶6g To THE Virginian VoyageYou brave heroic mindsWorthy your country's name,That honour still pursue;Go and subdue!Whilst loitering hindsLurk here at home with shame.
¶Britons, you stay too long:Quickly aboard bestow you.And with a merry galeSwell your stretch'd sailWith vows as strongAs the winds that blow you.
¶Your course securely steer,West and by south forth keep!Rocks, lee-shores, nor shoalsWhen Eolus scowlsYou need not fear;So absolute the deep.
¶And cheerfully at seaSuccess you still enticeTo get the pearl and gold,And ours to holdVirginia,Earth's only paradise.
¶Where nature hath in storeFowl, venison, and fish.[227]And the fruitfuU'st soilWithout your toilThree harvests more,All greater than your wish.
¶And the ambitious vineCrowns with his purple massThe cedar reaching highTo kiss the sky,The cypress, pine.And useful sassafras.
¶To whom the Golden AgeStill nature's laws doth give.No other cares attend.But them to defendFrom winter's rage.That long there doth not live.
¶When as the luscious smellOf that delicious landAbove the seas that flowsThe clear wind throws.Your hearts to swellApproaching the dear strand;
¶In kenning of the shore(Thanks to God first given)O you the happiest men,Be frolic then!Let cannons roar.Frighting the wide heaven.
¶And in regions far,Such heroes bring ye forthAs those from whom we came;And plant our nameUnder that starNot known unto our North.[228]And as there plenty growsOf laurel everywhere—Apollo's sacred tree—You it may seeA poet's browsTo crown, that may sing there.
¶Thy Voyages attend,Industrious Hakluyt,Whose reading shall inflameMen to seek fame,And much commendTo after times thy wit.
Love's Farewell
¶SINCE there's no help, come let us kiss and part,—Nay I have done, you get no more of me;And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart,That thus so cleanly I myself can free;Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows,And when we meet at any time again,Be it not seen in either of our browsThat we one jot of former love retain.Now at the last gasp of love's latest breath,When his pulse failing, passion speechless lies,When faith is kneeling by his bed of death,And innocence is closing up his eyes,— Now if thou would'st, when all have given him over,From death to life thou might'st him yet decover!