MICHAEL DRAYTON

Down the French host did ding As to o'erwhelm it;

And many a deep wound lent,

His arms with blood besprent,

And many a cruel dent Bruised his helmet.

Gloster, that duke so good, Next of the royal blood, For famous England stood

With his brave brother; Clarence, in steel so bright, Though but a maiden knight, Yet in that furious fight

Scarce such another.

Warwick in blood did wade, Oxford the foe invade, And cruel slaughter made

Still as they ran up; Suffolk his axe did ply, Beaumont and Willoughby Bare them right doughtily,

Ferrers and Fanhope.

Upon Saint Crispin's Day Fought was this noble fray, Which fame did not delay

To England to carry. O when shall English men With such acts fill a pen? Or England breed again

Such a King Harry ?

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