e 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 Godys 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 God it is good tyme,
For alle the seyntes that lyn in shryne,
To God for us they be praieng;
The religious of Ingelond all benynge,
'Ora pro nobis' 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 bassonet yede,
Slayn there were xj thousand on a rowe alle.
_Wot ye right well, &c._