When they had their oathes made, forth can they‹ he' 130
With flailes, and harniffe, and trumps made of tre :
There were all the bachelers of that countre;

They were dight in aray, as themselves would be:
Their banner was full bright,

Of an old rotten fell,

The cheefe was a plowmell,

135

And the shadow of a bell, quartered with the moone-light.

I wot it was no childrens game, when they togither mette
When ilka freke in the fieid on his fellow bette,

And layd on stifly, for nothing would they lette,
And fought ferly faft, till theire' horfes fwette;

140

Bowles and dishes all to batterd, and many heads broken.

There was clenking of cart-faddles, and clattering of

cannes,

146

Of fell frekes in the field, broken were their fannes;
Of fome were the heads broken, of fome the braine-pannes,
And evill were they besene, ere they went thance,

With fwipping of fwipples:

The ladds were fo weary for fought,

That they might fight no more on-loft,

150

But creeped about in the croft, as they were crooked

cripples.

C 3

Perkin

Ver. 130. te. P. C. V. 141. there. P. C.8. V. 145. heads therewere.

Perkin was fo weary, that he beganne to lowte,
Help, Hudde, I am dead in this ilk rowte:
An horfe for forty pennys, a good and a ftowte;
That I may lightly come of mine owne owte;

For no cost will I spare.

He starte up as a fnaile,

And hent a capull by the taile,

155

160

And raught of Daukin his flayle, and wanne him a mare.

Perkin wan five, and Hudde wan twa :

Glad and blithe they were, that they had done fa: They would have them to Tibbe, and prefent her with tha: The capuls were fo weary, that they might not ga, 165. But ftill can they stonde.'

Alas! quoth Hudde, my joy I leefe

Mee had lever then a ftone of cheete,

That deare Tibbe had all these, and wift it were my fonde.

Perkin turned him about in the ilk throng,
He fought freshly, for he had reft him long;
He was ware of Tirry take Tibbe by the hond,
And would have led her away with a love-fóng;

And Perkin after ran,

And off his capull he him drowe,

And gave him of his flayle inowe;

170

175

Then te, he! quoth Tibbe, and lowe, ye are a doughty man.

Ver. 164. would not have. P. C. Ver. 166. ftand. P. C.

Thus

Thus they tugged, and they rugged till it was nigh night;
All the wives of Tottenham come to fee that fight;
To fetch home their husbands, that were them trough

plight,

With wifpes and kixes, that was a rich fight;

Her hufbands home to fetch.

And fome they had in armes,

That were feeble wretches,

180

And fome on wheel-barrowes, and some on critches. 185

They gatherd Perkin about on every fide,

And grant him there the gree, the more was his pride :
Tib and hee, with great mirth, hameward can ride,

And were all night togither, till the morrow tide ;
And to church they went :

So well his needs he has sped,

That deare Tibbe he shall wed;

The cheefemen that her hither lead, were of the turnament.

To the rich feaft come many for the nonce :

Some come hop-halte, and fome tripping thither on the

ftones;

195

Some with a staffe in his hand, and fome two at once; Of fome were the heads broken;offome the shoulderbones: With forrow come they thither;

Wo was Hawkin; wo was Harry ;

Wo was Tymkin; wo was Tirry;

200

And fo was all the company, but yet they come togither.

At that feaft were they ferved in rich aray ;
Every five and five had a cokeney;

And fo they fat in jollity all the long day.
Tibbe at night, I trowe, had a fimple aray;
Mickle mirth was them among :

In every corner of the house
Was melody delicious,

For to hear precious of fix mens fong.

205

V.

FOR THE VICTORY AT AGINCOURT.

That our plain and martial ancestors could wield their fwords much better than their pens, will appear from the following homely Rhymes, which were drawn up by fome poet laureat of thofe days to celebrate the immortal victory gained at Agincourt, Oct. 25, 1415. This fong or hymn is given meerly as a curiofity, and is printed from a MS copy in the Pepys collection, vol. I. folio. It is there accompanied with the mufical notes, which are copied in a small plate at the end of this volume.

Ο

Deo gratias Anglia redde pro victoria!

WRE kynge went forth to Normandy,

With grace and myzt of chivalry;
The God for hym wrouzt marvelously,
Wherefore Englonde may calle, and cry
Deo gratias:

Deo gratias Anglia redde pro victoria.

5

He

He fette a fege, the fothe for to fay,
To Harflue toune with ryal aray;
That toune he wan, and made a fray,
That Fraunce fhall rywe tyl domes day.

Deo gratias, &c.

Then went owre kynge, with alle his ofte,
Thorowe Fraunce for all the Frenshe boste ;
He fpared for' drede of lefte, ne moft,
Tyl he come to Agincourt cofte.

Deo gratias, &c.

Than for fothe that knyzt comely
In Agincourt feld he fauzt manly,
Thorow grace of God moft myzty
He had bothe the felde, and the victory.

Dea gratias, &c.

Ther dukys, and erlys, lorde and barone,
Were take, and flayne, and that wel fone,
And fome were ledde in to Lundone
With joye, and merthe, and grete renone.

Deo gratias, &c.

Now gracious God he fave owre kynge,

His peple, and all his wel wyllynge,

Gef him gode lyfe, and gode endynge,
That we with merth mowe favely fynge

30

Deo gratias:

Deo gratias Anglia redde pro victoria.