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Their scales upon the sand
Lavishly scatter;

Therewith to pave the mould
Whereon she passes,

So herself to behold

As in her glasses.

On thy bank

When she looks out by night,
The stars stand gazing,
Like comets to our sight
Fearfully blazing;

As wond'ring at her eyes
With their much brightness,
Which so amaze the skies,
Dimming their lightness.
The raging tempests are calm
When she speaketh,
Such most delightsome balm
From her lips breaketh.
On thy bank

In all our Brittany

There's not a fairer,

Nor can you fit any

Should you compare her. Angels her eyelids keep,

All hearts surprising;

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Which look whilst she doth sleep

Like the sun's rising:

She alone of her kind

Knoweth true measure,

And her unmatched mind

Is heaven's treasure.

On thy bank ..

Fair Dove and Darwen clear,
Boast ye your beauties,
To Trent your mistress here
Yet pay your duties:
My Love was higher born
Tow'rds the full fountains,
Yet she doth moorland scorn

And the Peak mountains ;
Nor would she none should dream
Where she abideth,

Humble as is the stream

Which by her slideth.
On thy bank

Yet my poor rustic Muse
Nothing can move her,
Nor the means I can use,
Though her true lover:
Many a long winter's night
Have I waked for her,
Yet this my piteous plight
Nothing can stir her.
All thy sands, silver Trent,
Down to the Humber,
The sighs that I have spent

Never can number.

On thy bank,

In a rank,

Let thy swans sing her, And with their music

Along let them bring her.

119.

FAIR

Agincourt

'AIR stood the wind for France When we our sails advance, Nor now to prove our chance Longer will tarry;

But putting to the main,

At Caux, the mouth of Seine,
With all his martial train
Landed King Harry.

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Yet have we well begun;
Battles so bravely won
Have ever to the sun

By fame been raisèd.
And for myself (quoth he)
This my full rest shall be:
England ne'er mourn for me
Nor more esteem me:

Victor I will remain

Or on this earth lie slain,

Never shall she sustain

Loss to redeem me.

'Poitiers and Cressy tell,

When most their pride did swell,
Under our swords they fell:
No less our skill is

Than when our grandsire great,
Claiming the regal seat,

By many a warlike feat

Lopp'd the French lilies.'

The Duke of York so dread

The eager vaward led;

With the main Henry sped

Among his henchmen.

Excester had the rear,

A braver man not there;

O Lord, how hot they were
On 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 make
The very earth did shake:
Trumpet to trumpet spake,
Thunder to thunder.

Well it thine age became,
O noble Erpingham,
Which didst the signal aim
To our hid forces!

When from a meadow by,
Like a storm suddenly
The English archery

Stuck the French horses.

With Spanish yew so strong,
Arrows a cloth-yard long
That like to serpents stung,
Piercing the weather;

None from his fellow starts,
But playing manly parts,
And like true English hearts

Stuck 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,

bilbos] swords, from Bilboa.

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