[Shellweb-main] his their late Defeate, A

[Terres R. <tre...@sy...>]

 And so tow'rds Callice brauely marching on, Leaueth sad France her
losses to bemoane. FINIS. TO MY FRINDS THE CAMBER- BRITANS AND THEYR
HARP. TO MY FRINDS THE CAMBER-BRITANS AND THEYR HARP. Fayre stood the
winde for France, When we our sailes aduance, Nor now to proue our
chance Longer not tarry, But put vnto the mayne: At Kaux, the mouth of
Seine, With all his warlike trayne Landed King Harry. And taking many a
forte, Furnish'd in warlike sorte, Comming toward Agincourte (In happy
houre) Skermishing day by day With those oppose his way, Whereas the
Genrall laye With all his powre. Which in his height of pride, As Henry
to deride, His ransome to prouide Vnto him sending; Which he neglects
the while, As from a nation vyle, Yet with an angry smile Their fall
portending. And turning to his men, Quoth famous Henry then, Though they
to one be ten, Be not amazed: Yet haue we well begun; Battailes so
brauely wonne Euermore to the sonne By fame are raysed. And for my
selfe, (quoth hee) This my full rest shall bee, England nere mourne for
me, Nor more esteeme me: Victor I will remaine, Or on this earth be
slaine; Neuer shall she sustaine Losse to redeeme me. Poiters and Cressy
tell, When moste their pride did swell, Vnder our swords they fell: Ne
lesse our skill is, Then when our grandsyre greate, Claiming the regall
seate, In many