Drayton, WArner

To the high'st earth whilst awful Henry gets,
From whence strong Harfleur he might easiest see,
With sprightly words and thus their courage whets:
"In yonder walls be mines of gold," quoth he;
"He's a poor slave that thinks of any debts;
Harfleur shall pay for all, it ours shall be.

This air of France doth like me wond'rous well;
Let's burn our ships, for here we mean to dwell."
But through his host he first of all proclaim'd,
In pain of death, no Englishman should take
From the religious, aged, or the maim'd,
Or women, that could no resistance make:
To gain his own, for that he only aim'd,
Nor would have such to suffer for his sake:
Which in the French, when they the same did
hear,

Bred of this brave king a religious fear.
His army rang'd in order fitting war,
Each with some green thing doth his murrian crown,
With his main standard fixt upon the car 28,
Comes the great king before th' entrenched town,
Whilst from the walls the people gazing are,
In all their sights he sets his army down;

And for their shot he careth not a pin,
But seeks where he his battery may begin.
And into three his army doth divide,
His strong approaches on three parts to make;
>Himself on th' one, Clarence on th' other side;
To York and Suffolk he the third doth take;
The mines the duke of Glocester doth guide:
Then caus'd his ships the river up to stake,

That none with victual should the town relieve,
Should the sword fail, with famine them to grieve.
From his pavillion, where he sat in state,
Arm'd for the siege, and buckling on bis shield,
Brave Henry sends his herald to the gate,
By trumpet's sound, to summon them to yield,
And to accept his mercy, ere too late;
Or else to say, ere he forsook the field,

Now do they mount their ordnance for the day 2",
Their scaling-ladders rearing to the walls;
Their battering-rams against the gates they lay,
Their brazen slings send in the wild fire balls,
Baskets of twigs now carry stones and clay,
And to th' assault who furiously not falls?

The spade and pick ax working are below,
Which then unfelt, yet gave the greatest blow.
Rampiers of earth the painful pioneers raise
With the walls equal, close upon the dyke;
To pass by which the soldier that assays,
On planks thrust over, one him down doth strike:
Him with a mall a second English pays;
A second French transpierc'd him with a pike;
That from the height of th' embattled tow'rs,
Their mixed blood ran down the walls in show'rs.
A Frenchman back into the town doth fall,
With a sheaf-arrow shot into the head,
An Englishman, in scaling of the wall,
From the same place is by a stone struck dead,
Tumbling upon them logs of wood, and all,
That any way for their defence might stead:

Harfleur should be but a mere heap of stones,
Her buildings buried with her owners' bones.
France on this sudden put into a fright
With the sad news of Harfleur in distress,
Whose unexpected miserable plight
She on the sudden knew not to redress;
But urg'd to do the utmost that she might,
The peoples fears and clamours to suppress,
Raiseth a power with all the speed she could,
Somewhat thereby to loose king Henry's hold.
The marshal and the constable of France,
Leading those forces levied for the turn,
By which they thought their titles to advance,
And of their country endless praise to earn ;
But it with them far otherwise doth chance:
For when they saw the villages to burn,
And high-tower'd Harfleur round engirt with fire,
They with their pow'rs to Cawdebeck retire.
Like as a bind, when she her calf doth see
Lighted by chance into a lion's paws,
From which should she adventure it to free,
She must herself fill his devouring jaws,
And yet her young one still his prey must be,
(She so instructed is by Nature's laws:)

With them so fares it, which must needs go down,
If they would fight, and yet must lose the town.

"The king's main standard (for the ponderous-
ness thereof) ever borne upon a carriage.

The hills at hand re-echoing with the din,
Of shouts without, and fearful shrieks within.
When all at once the Englishmen assail,
The French within all valiantly defend,
And in a first assault, if any fail,
They by a second strive it to amend :
Out of the town come quarries 30 thick as hail;
As thick again their shafts the English send:

The bellowing cannon from both sides doth roar,
With such a noise, as makes the thunder poor.
Now upon one side you should hear a cry,
And all that quarter clouded with a smother;
The like from that against it by and by,
As though the one were echo to the other,
The king and Clarence so their turns can ply;
And valiant Glo'ster shows himself their brother,
Whose mines to the besieg'd more mischief do,
Than, with th' assaults above, the other two.
An old man sitting by the fire side,
Decrepit with extremity of age,
Stilling his little grandchild when it cry'd,
Almost distracted with the batteries rage;
Sometimes doth speak it fair, sometimes doth chide,
As thus he seeks its mourning to assuage,

By chance a bullet doth the chimney hit,
Which falling in, doth kill both him and it.
Whilst the sad weeping mother sits her down,
To give her little new born babe the pap,
A luckless quarry, levell'd at the town,
Kills the sweet baby sleeping in her lap,
That with the fright she falls into a swoon;
From which awak'd, and mad with the mishap,
As up a rampier shrieking she doth climb,
Comes a great shot, and strikes her limb from
limb.

Whilst a sort run confusedly to quench
Some palace burning, or some fired street,
Call'd from where they were fighting in the trench,
They in their way with balls of wild-fire meet,
So plagued are the miserable Freach,
Not above head, but also under feet;

For the fierce English vow the town to take,
Or of it soon a heap of stones to make.

nineteen following stanzas.

29 A description of the siege of Harfleur, in the

30 Cross-bow arrows.

Hot is the siege, the English coming on
As men so long to be kept out that scorn,
Careless of wounds, as they were made of stone,
As with their teeth the walls they would have

torn:

Into a breach, who quickly is not gone,
Is by the next behind him overborne ;

So that they found a place that gave them way,
They never car'd what danger therein lay.
From ev'ry quarter they their course must ply,
As 't pleas'd the king them to th' assault to call:'
Now on the duke of York the charge doth lie;
To Kent and Cornwall then the turn doth fall;
Then Huntingdon up to the walls they cry;
Then Suffolk, and then Exeter; which all

In their mean soldiers' habits us'd to go,
Taking such part as those that own'd them do.
The men of Harfleur rough excursions make
Upon the English, watchful in their tent,
Whose courages they to their cost awake,
With many a wound, that often back them sent,
So proud a sally that durst undertake,
And in the chase pell-mell amongst them went;

For on the way such ground of them they win,
That some French are shut out, some English in.

Nor idly sit our men at arms the while,

Four thousand horse that ev'ry day go out,
And of the field are masters many a mile,
By putting the rebellious French to route;
No peasants them with promises beguile,
Another bus'ness they were come about;

For him they take, his ransom must redeem,
Only French crowns the Englishmen esteem.
Whilst English Henry lastly means to try
By three vast mines the walls to overthrow,
The Frenchmen, their approaches that espy,
By countermines do meet with them below;
And as opposed in the works they lie,
Up the besieged the besiegers blow,

That stifled quite with powder, as with dust,
Longer to walls they found it vain to trust.
Till Gaucourt then and Tuttiville, that were
The town's commanders, with much peril find
The resolution that the English bear,
As how their own to yielding were inclin'd,
Summon to parley; off'ring frankly there,
If that aid came not by a day assign'd,

To give the town up, might their lives stand free;
As for their goods, at Henry's will to be.

And having won their conduct to the king,

The ports are open'd, weapons laid aside,
And from the walls th' artillery displac'd;
The arms of England are advanc'd in pride,
The watch-tow'r with St. George's banner grac'd:
"Live England's Henry!" all the people cry'd;
Into the streets their women ran in haste,

Bearing their little children, for whose sake
They hop'd the king would the more mercy
take.

The gates thus widen'd with the breath of war,
Their ample entrance to the English gave;
There was no door that then had any bar,
For of their own not any thing they have:
When Henry comes on his imperial car,
To whom they kneel, their lives alone to save;
Strucken with wonder when that face they saw,
Wherein such mercy was, with so much awe.
And first themselves the English to secure,
Doubting what danger might be yet within,
The strongest forts and citadel make sure,
To show that they could keep as well as win;
And though the spoils them wond'rously allure,
To fall to pillage ere they will begin,

They shut each passage, by which any pow'r
Might be brought on to hinder but an hour.
That conqu'ring king, which ent'ring at the gate,
Borne by the press as in the air he swam,
Upon the sudden lays aside his state,
And of a lion is become a lamb :
He is not now what he was but of late,
But on his bare feet to the church he came,
By his example as did all the press,

To give God thanks for his first good success.
And sends his herald to king Charles to say,
That though he was thus settled on his shore,
Yet he his arms was ready down to lay,
His ancient right if so he would restore:
But if the same he wilfully donay,
To stop th' effusion of their subjects' gore,
He frankly off'reth, in a single fight
With the young dauphin, to decide his right.
Eight days at Harfleur he doth stay, to hear
What answer back his herald him would bring:
But when he found that he was ne'er the near,
And that the dauphin meaneth no such thing
As to fight single, nor that any were
To deal for composition from the king;

He casts for Calais to make forth his way,
And take such towns as in his journies lay.
But first his bus'ness he doth so contrive

Those hardy chiefs, on whom the charge had lain, To curb the townsmen, should they chance to stir;

Thither those well-fed burgesses do bring,
What they had offer'd strongly to maintain
In such a case, although a dang❜rous thing;
Yet they so long upon their knees remain,

That five days' respite from his grant they have,
Which was the most they for their lives durst

crave.

The time prefixed coming to expire,
And their relief ingloriously delay'd;
Nothing within their sight but sword and fire,
And bloody ensigns ev'ry where display'd;
The English still within themselves entire :
When all these things they seriously had weigh'd,
To Henry's mercy found that they must trust,
For they perceiv'd their own to be unjust.

Of arms and office he doth them deprive,
And to their rooms the English doth prefer:
Out of the ports all vagrants he doth drive,
And therein sets his uncle Exeter:

This done, to march he bids the thund'ring drums,
To scourge proud France, when now her con-
queror comes.

The king and dauphin having understood,
How on his way this haughty Henry was
Over the Soame, which is a dangerous flood,
Pluckt down the bridges which might give him pass;
And ev'ry thing, if fit for human food,
Caus'd to be forag'd, to a wond'rous mass;

And more than this, his journies to foreslow,
He scarce one day unskirmish'd with doth ge.

But on his march, in midst of all his foes,
He like a lion keeps them all at bay;
And when they seem him strictly to enclose,
Yet through the thick'st he hews him out a way;
Nor the proud dauphin dare him to oppose,
Though off'ring oft his army to forelay;

Nor all the power the envious French can make,
Force him one foot his path but to forsake.

And each day as his army doth remove,
Marching along upon Soame's inars y side,
His men at arms on their
tall horses prove probe
To find some shallow, over where to ride:

But all in vain, against the stream they strove,
Till by the help of a laborious guide

A ford was found to set his army o'er,
Which never had discover'd been before,

The news divulg'd that he had waded Soame,
And safe to shore his carriages had brought,
Into the dauphin's bosom struck so home,
And on the weakness of king Charles so wrought,
That like the troubled sea when it doth foam,
As in a rage to beat the rocks to nought;

So do they storm, and curse on curse they heapt, 'Gainst those which should the passages have kept.

And at that time both resident in Roan, Thither for this assembling all the peers, Whose counsels now must underprop their throne Against the foe, which not a man but fears; Yet in a moment confident are grown, When with fresh hopes each one his fellow cheers, That ere the English to their Calais got, Some for this spoil should pay a bloody shot. Therefore they both in solemn council sat, With Berry and with Bretagne, their allies; Now speak they of this course, and then of that, As to ensnare him how they might devise; Something they fain would do, but know not

what.

At length the duke Alanzon up doth rise,

And, craving silence of the king and lords,
Against the English brake into these words:
"Had this unbridled youth an army led,
That any way were worthy of your fear,
Against our nation that durst turn the head,
Such as the former English forces were,
This care of yours your country then might stead:
To tell you then, who longer can forbear,

That into question you our valour bring,
To call a council for so poor a thing?

"A rout of tatter'd rascals, starved so,
As forced, through extremity of need,
To rake for scraps on dunghills as they go,
And on the berries of the shrubs to feed;
Besides, with fluxes are enfeebled so,
And other foul diseases that they breed,

That they their arms disabled are to sway,
But in their march do leave them on the way.

"And to our people but a handful are,
Scarce thirty thousand when to land they came,
Of which to England daily some repair,
Many from Harfleur carry'd sick and lame,
Fitter for spitals and the surgeons care,
Than with their swords on us to win them fame :
Unshod and without stockings are the best,
And those by winter miserably opprest.

"To let them die upon their march abroad,
And fowls upon their carcases to feed,
The heaps of them upon the common road
A great infection likely were to breed ;
For our own safeties see them then bestow'd,
And do for them this charitable deed,

Under our swords together let them fall, And, on that day they die, be buried all." This bold invective forc'd against the foe, Although it most of the assembly seiz'd, Yet those which better did the English know, Were but a little with his speeches pleas'd; And that the duke of Berry meant to show: Which, when the murmur somewhat was appeas'd, After awhile their list'ning silence breaks, And thus in answer of Alanzon speaks:

"My liege," quoth he, "and you, my lords and

peers,

Whom this great business chiefly doth concern,
By my experience, now so many years,
To know the English I am not to learn;
Nor I more feeling have of human fears
Than fitteth manhood, nor do hope to earn
Suffrage from any; but by zeal am won
To speak my mind here, as the duke hath done
"Th' events of war are various (as I know)
And say, the loss upon the English light,
Yet may a dying man give such a blow,
As much may hinder his proud conqueror's might;
It is enough our puissant power to show
To the weak English, now upon their flight,

When want and winter strongly spur them on;
You else but stay them, that would fain be gone.

I like our forces their first course should hold,
To skirmish with them upon every stay,
But fight by no means with them, tho' they would,
Except they find them foraging for prey;
So still you have them shut up in a fold,
And still to Calais keep them in their way;
So Fabius wearied Hanibal, so we
May English Henry, pleased if you be.
"And of the English rid your country clean,
If on their backs but Calais walls they win,
Whose frontier towns you eas'ly may maintain,
With a strong army still to keep them in;
Then let our ships make good the mouth of Sein,
And at your pleasure Harfleur you may win,

Ere with supplies again they can invade,
Spent in the voyage lately hither made.
"That day at Poictiers, in that bloody field,
The sudden turn in that great battle then
Shall ever teach me, whilst I arms can wield,
Never to trust to multitudes of men;
'Twas the first day that e'er I wore a shield,
Oh, let me never see the like agen!

Where their Black Edward such a battle won,
As to behold it might amaze the Sun.
"There did I see our conquer'd fathers fall
Before the English, on that fatal ground,
When as to ours their number was but small,
And with brave spirits France ne'er did more
abound:

Yet oft that battle into mind I call,
Whereas of ours, one man seem'd all one wound.
I instance this, yet humbly here submit
Myself to fight, if you shall think it fit."

The marshal and the constable about
To second what this sager duke had said,
The youthful lords into a cry brake out
'Gainst their opinions; so that oversway'd,
Some seeming of their loyalties to doubt,
Alanzon as an oracle obey'd,

And not a French then present, but doth swear
To kill an English, if enow there were.

A herald posted presently away,

The king of England to the field to dare,
To bid him cease his spoil, nor to delay
'Gainst the French pow'r his forces, but prepare:
For that king Charles determin'd to display
His bloody ensigns, and through France declare
The day and place that Henry should set down,
In which their battles should dispose the crown.

This news to Henry by the herald brought,
As one dispassion'd, soberly quoth he,
"Had your king pleas'd, we sooner might have
fought;

For now my soldiers much enfeebled be:
Nor day, nor place, for battle shall be sought
By English Henry; but if he seek me,

I to my utmost will myself defend,
And to th' Almighty's pleasure leave the end."
The bruit of this intended battle spread,

The coldness of each sleeping courage warms,
And in the French that daring boldness bred,
Like casting bees, that they arise in swarms,
Thinking the English down so far to tread,
As past that day ne'er more to rise in arms,
T'extirp the name, if possible it were,
At least, not after to be heard of there.

As when you see the envious crow espy
Something that she doth naturally detest,
With open throat how she doth squall and cry,
And from the next grove calleth in the rest,
And they for thos beyond them bawling fly,
Till their foul noise do all the air infest :

Thus French, the French to this great battle call,
Upon their swords to see the English fall.

And to the king when seriously one told,
With what an host he should encounter'd be ;
Gam, noting well the king did him behold
In the reporting, merrily quoth he,
"My liege, I'll tell you, if I may be bold,
We will divide this army into three;

One part we'll kill, the second pris'ners stay;
And for the third, we'll leave to run away."

But, for the foe came hourly in so fast,
Lest they his army should disorder'd take,
The king, who wisely doth the worst forecast,
His speedy march doth presently forsake,
Into such form and his battalion cast,
That, do their worst, they should not eas'ly shake;
For that his scouts, which forag'd had the coast,
Bade him at hand expect a puissant host.

On which ere long the English vaward light,
Which York, of men the bravest, doth command,
When either of them in the other's sight,
He caus'd the army instantly to stand,
As though preparing for a present fight;
And rideth forth from his couragious band

To view the French, whose numbers overspread
The troubled country, on whose earth they
tread.

Now were both armies got upon that ground,
As on a stage, where they their strengths must try,
Whence, from the width of many a gaping wound,
There's many a soul into the air must fly.
Meanwhile the English, that some ease had found
By the advantage of a village nigh,

There sate them down the battle to abide,
When they the place had strongly fortify'd.

Made drunk with pride, the haughty French disdain
Less than their own a multitude to view,
Nor ask of God the victory to gain
Upon the English, waxt so poor and few,
To stay their slaughter thinking it a pain;
And lastly to that insolence they grew,

Quoits, lots, and dice, for Englishmen to cast,
And swear to pay, the battle being past.
For knots of cord to ev'ry town they send,
The captiv'd English that they caught to bind,
For to perpetual slav'ry they intend
Those that alive they on the field should find:
So much as that they fear'd lest they should spend
Too many English, wherefore they assign'd

Some to keep fast those fain that would be gone,
After the fight to try their arms upon.

One his bright sharp-edg'd scymitar doth show,
Off'ring to lay a thousand crowns (in pride)
That he two naked English at one blow,
Bound back to back, would at the waists divide:
Some bet his sword will do't, some others no,
After the battle and they'll have it try'd.
Another wafts his blade about his head,
And shows them how their ham-strings he will
shred.

They part their pris'ners, passing them for debt,
And in their ransom ratably accord:
To a prince of ours, a page of theirs they set,
And a French lacquey to an English lord.
As for our gentry, them to hire they'll let,
And as good cheap as they can them afford,

Branded for slaves, that if they hapt to stray,
Known by the mark, them any one might slay.
And cast to make a chariot for the king,
Painted with antics and ridiculous toys,
In which they mean to Paris him to bring,
To make sport to their madams and their boys,
And will have rascals rhymes of him to sing,
Made in his mock'ry; and in all these joys,

They bid the bells to ring, and people cry
Before the battle, "France and victory!”
And to the king and dauphin sent away,
(Who at that time residing were in Roan)
To be partakers of that glorious day,
Wherein the English should be overthrown;
Lest that of them ensuing times should say,
That for their safety they forsook their own,

When France did that brave victory obtain,
That shall her lasting'st monument remain.
The poor distressed Englishmen the whiles,
Not dar'd by doubt, and less appall'd with dread,
Of their arm'd pikes some sharp'ning are the piles;
The archer grinding his barb'd arrow-head;
Their bills and blades some whetting are with files,
And some their armour strongly riveted;

Some pointing stakes to stick into the ground, To guard the bow-men, and their horse to wound.

The night fore-running this most dreadful day,
The French that all to jollity incline,
Some fall to dancing, some again to play,
And some are drinking to this great design;
But all in pleasure spend the night away:

The tents with lights, the fields with bonfires shine:
The common soldiers free-men's catches sing;
With shouts and laughter all the camp doth ring.
The wearied English, watchful o'er their foes,
The depth of night then drawing on so fast,
That fain a little would themselves repose,
With thanks to God do take that small repast
Which that poor village willingly bestows;
And having plac'd their sentinels at last,
They fall to prayer, and in their cabins blest,
T'refresh their spirits then took them to their

rest.

In his pavillion princely Henry laid,
Whilst all his army round about him slept;
His restless head upon his helmet staid,
For careful thoughts his eyes long waking kept.
"Great God," (quoth he)" withdraw not now
thy aid,

Nor let my father Henry's sins be heapt

On my transgressions, up the sum to make,
For which thou may'st me utterly forsake.
King Richard's wrongs to mind, Lord, do not call,
Nor how for him my father did offend;
From us alone derive not thou his fall,
Whose odious life caus'd his untimely end,
That by our alms be expiated all :
Let not that sin on me his son descend,
When as his body I translated have,
And buried in an honourable grave."

These things thus pond'ring, sorrow-ceasing sleep,
From cares to rescue his much-troubled mind,
Upon his eye-lids stealingly doth creep,
And in soft slumbers every sense both bind,
As undisturbed every one to keep;
When as that angel, to whom God assign'd
The guiding of the English, gliding down,
The silent camp both with fresh courage crown.
His glitt'ring wings he gloriously displays
Ofer the host, as every way it lies,

With golden dreams their travail and repays:
This herald from the Rector of the skies
In vision warns them not to use delays,
But to the battle cheerfully to rise,

And be victorious; for that day at hand
He would amongst them for the English stand.
The dawn scarce drew the curtains of the East,
But the late wearied Englishmen awake,
And much refreshed with a little rest,
Themselves soon ready for the battle make :
Not any one but feeleth in his breast
That sprightly fire which courage bids him take;
For ere the Sun next rising went to bed,
The French by them in triumph should be led.

And from their cabins ere the French arose,
(Drowned in the pleasure of the passed night)
The English cast their battels to dispose,
Fit for the ground whereon they were to fight:
Forth that brave king, couragious Henry, goes,
An hour before that it was fully light,
To see if there might any place be found
To give his host advantage by the ground.

Where 'twas his hap a quickset hedge to view,
Well grown in height, and for his purpose thin;
Yet by the ditch, upon whose bank it grew,
He found it to be difficult to win,
Especially if those of his were true,
Amongst the shrubs that he should set within;
By which he knew their strength of horse must
come,

If they would ever charge his vanguard home.
And of three hundred archers maketh choice,
Some to be taken out of every band,

The strongest bow-men by the general voice,
Such as beside were valiant of their hand,
And to be so employ'd as would rejoice,
Appointing them behind the hedge to stand [mute,
To shrowd themselves from sight, and to be
Until a signal freely bade them shoot.

The gamesome lark now got upon her wing,
As 'twere the English early to awake,
And to wide Heaven her cheerful notes doth sing,
As she for them would intercession make;
Nor all the noise that from below doth spring,
Her airy walk can force her to forsake;

Of some much noted, and of others less,
But yet of all presaging good success.

The lazy French their leisure seem to take,
And in their cabins keep themselves so long,
Till flocks of ravens them with noise awake,
Over the army like a cloud that hung;
Which greater haste enforceth them to make,
When with their croaking all the country rung,
Which boded slaughter, as the most do say,
But by the French it turned was this way:
That this divining fowl well understood
Upon that place much gore was to be spill'd;
And as those birds do much delight in blood,
With human flesh would have their gorges fill'd,
So waited they upon their swords for food,
To feast upon the English, being kill'd;

Then little thinking that these came indeed
On their own mangled carcases to feed.
When soon the French preparing for the field,
Their armed troops are setting in array,
Whose wond'rous numbers they can hardly wield,
The place too little whereupon they lay;
They therefore to necessity must yield,
And into order put them as they may,

Whose motion sounded like to Nilus' fall,
That the vast air was deafen'd therewithal.

The constable and admiral of France,
With the grand marshal, men of great command;
The dukes of Bourbon and of Orleance,
Some for their place, some for their birth-right
stand;

The dauphin of Averney (to advance
His worth and honour) of a puissant hand;

The earl of Ewe, in war that had been bred;
These mighty men the mighty vaward led.
The main brought forward by the duke of Barr,
Nevers, and Beaurnont, men of special name;
Alanzon, thought not equall'd in this war:
With them Salines, Rous, and Grandpre came,
Their long experience who had fetch'd from far,
Whom this expected conquest doth inflame,

Consisting most of cross-bows, and so great,
As France herself it well might seem to threat.

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