Here after foloweth ye batayll of Egyngecourte [and] the great sege of Rone by kynge Henry of Monmouthe the fyfthe of the name that wan Gascoyne and Gyenne and Normandye Battle of Agincourt. This text is an enriched version of the TCP digital transcription A09522 of text S90056 in the English Short Title Catalog (STC 198). Textual changes and metadata enrichments aim at making the text more computationally tractable, easier to read, and suitable for network-based collaborative curation by amateur and professional end users from many walks of life. The text has been tokenized and linguistically annotated with MorphAdorner. The annotation includes standard spellings that support the display of a text in a standardized format that preserves archaic forms ('loveth', 'seekest'). Textual changes aim at restoring the text the author or stationer meant to publish. This text has not been fully proofread Approx. 18 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 7 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images. EarlyPrint Project Evanston,IL, Notre Dame, IN, St. Louis, MO 2018 A09522 STC 198 ESTC S90056 99853161 99853161 18530 2240894593

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 Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 2, no. A09522) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 18530) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1475-1640 ; 906:05) Here after foloweth ye batayll of Egyngecourte [and] the great sege of Rone by kynge Henry of Monmouthe the fyfthe of the name that wan Gascoyne and Gyenne and Normandye Battle of Agincourt. [12] p. In Foster lane in saynt Leonardes parysshe by me Ioh[a]n Skot, [Inpryntyd at Londo[n] : [1536?]] Caption title. In verse. Printer's name from colophon; publication date conjectured by STC. Signatures: A⁶. In this edition A2r line 2 ends: shalbe wonne. Reproduction of the original in the Bodleian Library. eng Henry -- V, -- King of England, 1387-1422 -- Poetry. Agincourt (France), Battle of, 1415 -- Poetry -- Early works to 1800. eebo [Here after foloweth ye batayll of Egyngecourte.] [no entry] 1536 14 2767 3 0 0 0 0 0 10.84 C The rate of 10.84 defects per 10,000 words puts this text in the C category of texts with between 10 and 35 defects per 10,000 words. 2009-12 Assigned for keying and markup 2009-12 Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2010-02 Sampled and proofread 2010-02 Text and markup reviewed and edited 2010-04 Batch review (QC) and XML conversion
Here after foloweth the batayll of Egyngecourte & the great sege of Rone by kynge Henry of Moumouthe the fyfthe of the name that wan Gascoyne and Gyenne and Normandye . GOd that all this worlde dyde make And dyed for vs vpon a tree Saue england for mary thy mothers As thou art stedfast god in trynyte And saue kynge Henry soule I beseche y● sake That was full gracyouse and good with all A courtyouse knyght and kynge ryall Of Henry the fyfthe noble man of warre Thy dedes may neuer forgoten be Of knyghthod thou were the very lodestarre In thy tyme Englande floured in prosperyte Thou mortall myrrour of all cheualry Though thou be not set amonge the worthyes nyne . yet wast thou a conqueroure in thy tyme Our kynge sende in to Fraunce full rathe His harraude that was good and sure He desyred his herytage for to haue That is Gascoyne and Gyen and Normandye He bad the Dolphyne delyuer / it shulde be his All that belongyd to the fyrst Edwarde And yf he sayd me nay I I wys I wyll get it with dent of swerde But than answered the Dolphyne bolde By our inbassatours sendynge agayne Me thynke that your kynge is not so olde Warres great for to mayntayne Grete well he sayd your comely kynge That is bothe gentyll and small A tun full of tenys balles I wyll hym send For to play hym therwithall Than bethought our lordes all In Fraunce they wolde no lenger abyde They toke theyr leue bothe greate & small Tnd home to Englande gan they ryde To our kynge they tolde theyr tale to the ende What that the Dolphyne dyde to them saye I wyll hym thanke than sayd the kynge By the grace of god yf I may Yet by his owne mynde this Dolphyne bolde To our kynge he sent agaynne hastely And prayed hym trewes for to holde For Iesus loue that dyed on a tree Nay than sayd our comely kynge For in to Fraunce wyll I wynde The Dolphyne angre I trust I shall And suche a tenys ball I shall hym sende That shall bere downe the hye rofe of his hall The kynge at westmynster lay that tyme And all his lordes euerychone As they dyde set them downe to dyne Lordynges he sayd by saynt Iohn To Fraunce I thynke to take my waye Of good councell I you praye What is your wyll that I shall done Shewe me shortly without delay The duke of Clarence answered sone And sayd my lege I councell you soo And other lordes sayd we thynke it for the best With you to be redy for to goo Whyle that our lyues may endure & lest Gramercy syrs the kynge gan say Our ryght I trust than shal be wonne And I wyll quyte you yf I may Therfore I warne you bothe olde & yonge To make you redy without delay To Southampton to take your waye At saynt Peters tyde at Lammas For by the grace of god and yf I maye Ouer the salte see I thynke to passe Great ordynaunce of gunnes the kynge let make And shypte them at London all at ones Bowes and arowes in chestes were take Speres and bylles / with yeen gunstones And armynge dagars made for the nones With swerdes & bucklers that were full sure And harneys bryght that strokes wolde endure The kynge to Southampton than dyde ryde With his lordes for no lenger wolde he dwell Fyftene . C. fayre shyppes there dyde hym abyde With goodly sayles and to peastell Lordes of Fraunce our kynge they solde For a myllyant of golde as I harde say By Englande lytell pryse they tolde Therfore theyr songe was welawaye Bytwene hampton and the yle of wyght These goodly shyppes lay there at rode With mast yardes a crosse full semely of syght Ouer all the hauen sprede a brode On euery paues acrosse rede The wastes decked with serpentynes stronge Saynt Georges stremers spred ouer hede With the armes of Englande hangynge all alonge Our kynge full hastely to his shyppe yede And all other lordes of euery degree Euery shyp wayed his anker in dede With the tyde to hast them to the see They hoysed theyr sayles sayled a lofte A goodly fyght it was to see The wynde was good and blew but softe And fourth they wente in the name of the trynyte Theyr course they toke towarde Normandy And passed ouer in a daye and a nyght So in the seconde mornonge yerly Of that contrye they had a syght And euer they drew nere the coste Of the day glad were they all And whan they were at the shore almost Euery shyp his anker let fall With theyr takyls they launched many a longe bote And ouer hache threw them in to the streame A thousande shortly they sawe a flote With men of armes that lyth dyde leme Our kynge landed at Cottaunses without delay On our lady euenth assumpcyon And to Hartflete they toke the way And mustered fayre before the towne Our kynge his banner there dyde splay With standerdes bryght and many penowne And there he pyght his tente adowne Full well broydered with armory gaye Fyrst our comely kynges tente with the crowne And all other lordes in good aray My brother Clarence the kynge dyde say The toures of the towne wyll I kepe With her doughters and her maydens gay To wake the frenchemen of theyr slepe London he sayd shall with hym mete And my gunnes that lyeth fayre vpon the grene For they shall playe with Harfflete A game at tennys as I wene God we to game for goddes grace My chyldren be redy euerychone For euery great gunne that there was In his mouthe he had a stone The Capytayne of Herfflet soone anone Vnto our kynge he sent hastely To knowe what his wyll was to done For to cume thyther with suche a meny Delyuer me the towne the kynge sayd Nay sayd the Capytayne by god & by saynt Denys Than shall I wynne it sayd our kynge By the grace of god and of his goodnes Some hard tennys balles I haue hyther brought Of marble and yren made full rounde I swere by Iesu that me dere bought They shall bete the walles to the grounde Than sayd the greate gunne Holde felowes we go to game Thanked be Mary and Iesu her sone They dyde the frenchemen moche shame Fyftene afore sayd London tho Her balles full fayre she gan out throwe Thyrty sayd the seconde gun I wyll wyn & I may There as the wall was moost sure They bare it downe without nay The kynges doughter sayd herken this playe Harken maydens nowe this tyde Fyue and forty we haue / it is no nay They bete downe the walles on euery syde The Normandes sayd let vs not abyde But gowe in haste by one assent Where so euer the gunstones do glyde Our houses in Herfftete is all to rent The englys shemenourbul warkes haue brent And women cryed alas that euer they were borne The frenchemen sayd now be we shent By vs now the towne is forlorne It is best now theyrfore That we beseche this englys she kynge of grace For to assayle vs no more Leste he dystroye vs in this place Than wyll we byd the Dolphyne make hym redy Or elles this towne deryuered must be Messengers went fourth by and by And to out kynge come they The lorde Corgraunte certaynly For he was Capytayne of the place And Gelam Bowsec with hym dyde hye With other lordes more and lasse And whan they to our kynge come were Full lowly set them on theyr kne● Hayle comely kynge gan they saye Cryste saue the from aduersyte Of truse we wyll beseche the Vntyll that it be sunday noone And yf we may not recouered be We wyll delyuer the towne Than sayd our kynge full soone I graunte you grace in this tyde One of you shall fourthe anone And the remnaunt shall with me abyde Theyr Capytayne toke his nexte waye And to Rone faste gan he ryde The Dolphyne he had thought there to founde But he was gone he durste not abyde For helpe the Capytayne besought that tede Herfflete is lost for euer and aye The walles ben beten downe on euery syde That we no lenger kepe it may Of counseyll all he dyde them pray What is your wyll that I may done We must ordeyne the kynge hatayll by sonday Or elles delyuer hym the towne The lordes of Rone to gyther dyde rowne And bad the towne shulde openly yelde The kyng of englande fareth as a lyon We wyll not mete with hym in the felde The Capytayne wolde than no longer abyde And to warde Harfflete came he ryght For so faste he dyde ryde That he was there the same nyght And whan he to oure kynge dyde come Lowly he set hym on his kne Hayle comely prynce than dyde he say The grace of god is with the Here haue I brought the keys all Of Harfflete that is so to yall a cytye All is yours bothe chambre and hall And at your veyll for to be Thanked he Iesu sayd our kynge And Mary his mother truely Myne vncle Dorset without lettynge Capytayne of Herfflete shall he be And all that is within the cytye A whyle yet they shall abyde To amende the walles in euery degre That is beten downe on euery syde And after that they shall out ryde To other townes ouer all Wyfe nor chylde shall not there abyde But haue them forthe bothe great & small One and twenty . M. men myght se whan they went out full fore dyde wepe The great gunnes & ordynaunce truely Was brought in to Herfflete Great sykenes amonge our hoste was in good fay Whiche kylled many of our englysshemen There dyed by yonde .vii. score vpon a day Alyue there was lefte but thousandes .x. Our kynge hym selfe in to the castell yede And rested hym there as longe as his wyll was At the laste he sayd lordes so god me spede Towarde Calayes I thynke to passe After that Herfflete was gotten that royall cytye Through the grace of god omnypotente Our comely kynge made hym redy soone And towarde Calayes fourthe he wente My brother Glocestre veramente Here wyll we no lenger abyde And Cosyn of yorke this is oure entent With vs fourth ye shall this tyde My Cosyn Huntyngdon with vs shall ryde And the Erle of Oxenforde with you thre The duke of Southfolke by our syde He shall come fourthe with his meny And the Erle of Deuounshyre sykerly Syr thomas harpynge that neuer dyde fayle The lorde Broke that come hartely And syr Iohn of cornewall Syr Gylberde Vmfrey that wolde vs auayle And the lorde clyfforde so god me spede Syr wyllyam Bouser that wyll not fayle For all thy wyll helpe yf it be nede Our kynge rode fourth blessyd mought he be He spared neyther dale ne downe By waters greate fast rode he Tyll he cam to the water of sene The frenchemen threwe the brydge adowne That ouer the water they myght not passe Our kynge made hym redy than And to the towre of Turreyn wente more & lasse The frenchemen our kynge abought becast With batayles stronge on euery syde The duke of Orlyaunce sayd in haste The kynge of Englande shall abyde Who gaue hym leue this waye to passe I trust that I shall hym begyle Full longe or he come to Calays The duke of Burbone answeryd fone And swere by god & by saynt Denys We wyll play them euerychone These lordes of Englande at the tenys Theyr Gentylmen I swere by saint Ihon And archers we wyll sell them greate plentye And so wyll we ryd them sone Six for a peny of our monye Than answered the duke of Bare Wordes that were of greate pryde By god he sayd I wyll not spare Ouer all the englysshemen for to ryde If that they dare vs abyde We wyll ouerthrowe them in fere And take them prysoners in this tyde Than come home agayne to our dynere Henry our kynge that was so good . He prepared there full ryally Stakes he let hewe in a wood And set them before his archers verely The frenchemen our ordynaunce ganespye They that we ordeyned for to ryde Lyghted adowne with sorowe truely So on theyr fote fast gan abyde Our kynge wente vp vpon an hyll hye And loked downe to the valyes lowe He sawe where the frenchemen came hastely As thycke as euer dyde hayle or snowe Than kneled our kynge downe in that stounde And all his men on euery syde Euery man made acrosse & kyssed the grounde And on theyr fete fast ganne abyde Our kynge sayd syrs what tyme of the day My lege they sayd it is nye pryme Than go we to our iourney By the grace of Iesu it is good tyme For sayntes that lye in theyr shryne To god for vs they be prayenge All the relygyouse of Englande in this tyme Ora pro nobis for vs they synge Saynt George was sene ouer our hoste Of very trouthe this syght men dyde se Downe was he sente by the holygoste To gyue our kynge the vyctory Than blewe the trompetes merely These two batayles to gyther yede Our archers stode vp full hartely And made the frenchemen fast to blede Theyr arowes went fast without ony let And many shot they through out Thorugh habergyne brestplate & bassenet A .xi. M. were slayne in that route Our gracyouse kynge as I well knowe That day he fought with his owne hande He spared neyther hye ne lowe There was neuer kynge in no lande That euer dyd better on a daye Wherfore Englande may synge a songe Laus deo may we say And other prayers euer amonge The duke of Orlyaunce without nay That day was taken prysonere The duke of Burbone also in fere And also the duke of Bare truely Syr Bergygaunte he gan hym yelde And other lordes of Fraunce many Lo thus out comely kynge conquered the fyld Be the grace of god omnypotent He toke his presoners bothe olde & yonge And to warde Calayes fourth he went He shypped there with good entent To Cauntorbury full fayre he passed And offered to saynt Thomas thryne And through Keut he rode in haste To Eltam he cam all in good tyme And ouer blackeheth as he was rydynge Of the Cytye of London he was ware Hayle ryall Cytye sayd our kynge Cryste kepe the euer from sorowe & care And than he gaue that noble Cyte his blessyng● He prayed Iesu it myght well fare To westmynster dyde he ryde And the frenche prysoners with hym also He raunsommed them in that tyde And agayne to theyr contrye he let them goo Thus of this matter I make an ende To th effecte of the batayll haue I gone For in this boke I cannot comprehende The greatest batayll of all called the sege of Rome For that sege lasted .iii. yere and more And there a rat was at .xl. pens . For in the Cytye the people hongered fore Women and chyldren for faute of mete were lore And some for payne bare bones were gnawynge That at her brestes had .ii. chyldren soukynge Of the sege of Rone it to wryte were pytye It is a thynge so lamentable Yet euery hye feest / our kynge of his charytye Gaue them meate to theyr bodyes comfortable And at the laste / the towne wanne wout fable Thus of all as now I make an ende To the blysse of heuen god our soules sende . Thus endeth the batayll of Egyngcourt

Inpryntyd at London in Foster lane in saynt Leonardes parys she by me Iohn Skot .

FINIS