Classic Poem

The proud survivors of the fight
Should moan the warriors slain,
The falling dew bespreads at night
The dead upon the plain.
Now tears are drops of dew you know
By many a bright eye shed,
And must be moan dew when they flow
In moaning for the dead.
So we may thus be pretty sure,
Sir Hilary cried at Agincourt,
(Having but little time to pray)
Moan dew, Mon dieu (My God, Anglais).