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164A: King Henry Fifth’s Conquest of France

164A.1	 AS our king lay musing on his bed,
	 He bethought himself upon a time
	 Of a tribute that was due from France,
	 Had not been paid for so long a time.
	 Fal, lal, etc.
164A.2	 He called for his lovely page,
	 His lovely page then called he,
	 Saying, You must go to the king of France,
	 To the king of France, sir, ride speedily.
164A.3	 O then went away this lovely page,
	 This lovely page then away went he;
	 And when he came to the king of France,
	 Low he fell down on his bended knee.
164A.4	 ‘My master greets you, worthy sir;
	 Ten ton of gold that is due to he,
	 That you will send him his tribute home,
	 Or in French land you soon will him see.’
164A.5	 ‘Your master’s young and of tender years,
	 Not fir to come into my degree,
	 And I will send him three tennis-balls,
	 That with them he may learn to play.’
164A.6	 O then returned this lovely page,
	 This lovely page then returned he,
	 And when he came to our gracious king,
	 Low he fell down on his bended knee.
164A.7	 ‘What news, what news, my trusty page?
	 What is the news you have brought to me?’
	 ‘I have brought such news from the king of France
	 That you and he will never agree.
164A.8	 ‘He says you’re young and of tender years,
	 Not fit to come into his degree,
	 And he will send you three tennis-balls,
	 That with them you may learn to play.’
164A.9	 ‘Recruit me Cheshire and Lancashire,
	 And Derby Hills that are so free;
	 No marryd man nor no widow’s son;
	 For no widow’s curse shall go with me.’
164A.10	 They recruited Cheshire and Lancashire,
	 And Derby Hills that are so free;
	 No marryd man, nor no widow’s son;
	 Yet there was a jovial bold company.
164A.11	 O then we marchd into the French land,
	 With drums and trumpets so merrily;
	 And then bespoke the king of France,
	 ‘Lo, yonder comes proud King Henry.’
164A.12	 The first shot that the Frenchmen gave,
	 They killd our Englishmen so free;
	 We killd ten thousand of the French,
	 And the rest of them they ran away.
164A.13	 And then we marched to Paris gates,
	 With drums and trumpets so merrily:
	 O then bespoke the king of France,
	 ‘The Lord have mercy on my men and me!
164A.14	 ‘O I will send him his tribute home,
	 Ten ton of gold that is due to he,
	 And the finest flower that is in all France
	 To the Rose of England I will give free.’