Part 41 (1/2)
_Wot ye right well, &c._
The duke of Braban answerd then, And seyde, be G.o.d in Trinite Ther be so fewe of thise Inglysshmen I have no deynte them to se; Alas! he seyde, what nedith us alle To day so many for to comen here, XX^{ti} of us it will befalle Of them on prisonere.
_Wot ye right well, &c._
The duk of Burbon sware be seynt Denys, And other lordes many on, We will goo pleye them at dys, The lordys of Ingelond everych on, Ther gentilmen seide, be swete seynt John.
Ther archers be sold full fayr plente, And alle the beste bowemen ich on, All for a blank of oure mone.
_Wot ye right well, &c._
And thanne answerde the duke of Barrye, With wordes that were full moch.e.l.l of pryde, Be G.o.d, he seyde, y wil not sparye, Over the Englysshmen y thenke to ryde; And if that they dar us abyde We shall overthrowe them alle in fere, Goo we and slee them in this tyde, And come hom agen to oure dynere.
_Wot ye right well, &c._
Oure gracious kyng, that is so good, He batailyd hym ful rially; Stakes he hewe doun in a wood, Beforn our archers pyght them on hy; Oure ordynaunce the Frensshemen gan aspy, They that were ordeynyd for to ryde, They lighted doun with sorwe and cry, And on their feet their gon abyde.
_Wot ye right well, &c._
The duke of York thanne full son Before oure kyng he fell on kne, My liege lord, graunt me a bon, For his love that on croys gan die, The fore ward this day that ye graunt me, To be before yow in this feld; Be myn baner sleyn wil y be, Or y will turne my backe, or me yelde.
_Wot ye right well, &c._
Gramercy, cosyn, seyde our kyng, Thenk on the right of mery Ingelond; And thanne he gaff hym his blessyng, And bad the duke he sholde up stond; Crist, he seyde, that shop bothe sone and sonde, And art lord and kyng of myght, This day hold over me thin holy hond, And spede me well in al my right.
_Wot ye right well, &c._
Help seynt George oure lady knyght, Seynt Edward that is so fre, Oure lady that art G.o.dys modyr bright, And seynt Thomas of Caunterbure; He bad alle men blithe to be, And seyde, Felas, well shall we spede, Every man in his degre, I shall yow quyte full well youre mede.
_Wot ye right well, &c._
Oure kyng seyde, Felas, what tyme of day?
Sire, thei seyde, it is ner pryme: Go we anon to this jornay, Be the grace of G.o.d it is good tyme, For alle the seyntes that lyn in shryne, To G.o.d for us they be praieng; The religious of Ingelond all benynge, 'Ora pro n.o.bis' for us they syng.
_Wot ye right well, &c._
The kyng knelyd doun in that stounde, And Englysshmen on every syde, And thries there kyssyd the grounde, And on there feet gon glyde: Crist, seyde the kyng, as y am thi knyght, This day me save for Ingelond sake, And lat nevere that good Reme for me be fright, Ne me on lyve this day be take.
_Wot ye right well, &c._
Avaunt baner, withoute lettyng.
Seynt George before avowe we hyme, The baner of the Trynyte forth ye bryng, And seynte Edward baner at this tyme; Over, he seyde, Lady Hevene Quene, Myn own baner with hire shall be; The Frensshman seyde al be dene, Seynt George all over oure kyng they se.
_Wot ye right well, &c._
They triumpyd up full meryly, The grete bataille togyder yede; Oure archiers shotte full hertyly, And made Frensshmen faste to blede; There arwes wente full good sped, Oure enemyes therwith doun gon falle, Thorugh bresplate, habirion, and ba.s.sonet yede, Slayn there were xj thousand on a rowe alle.
_Wot ye right well, &c._
Oure gracious kyng men myghte knowe, That day he faught withe his owne hond, He sparyd nother heigh no lowe, There was no man his dynt myght stond; There was nevere no kyng yit in this lond, That evere dyd better in a day, Therfore all Ingelond may synge oo song, 'Laus Deo' we may well say.
_Wot ye right well, &c._
The duk of Gloucestre, that is no nay, That day full worthyly he wroughte, On every syde he made good way, The Frensshemen faste to grounde he brought.
The erl of Huntyngdon sparyd nought; The erl of Oxenford layd on all soo; The yonge erl of Devens.h.i.+re he ne rought; The Frensshmen faste to grounde gan goo.
_Wot ye right well, &c._
The duk of Orlions thanne was woo, That day was taken prisonere; The erl of Ewe he was also; The duke of Braband slayn was there; The duke of Barre fast hym by; The duke of Launson wente nevere away; Ne the erle Neverse certeynly, Ne many other lordes that y cannot say.
_Wot ye right well, &c._