Classic Poem

Deo gracias, Anglia,
Redde pro victoria.

Our King went forth to Normandy
With grace and might of chivalry;
Ther God for him wrought mervelusly;
Wherfore England may call and cry
"Deo gracias.'

He sette a sege, the sooth for to say,
To Harfleur town with royal aray;
That town he won and made afray
That Fraunce shal rewe til Domesday:
Deo gracias.

Then went our King with alle his host
Thorough Fraunce, for all the Frenshe boast;
He spared no drede of lest ne most
Til he come to Agincourt coast:
Deo gracias.

Then, forsooth, that knight comely
In Agincourt feeld he fought manly.
Thorough grace of God most mighty
He had both the feeld and the victory:
Deo gracias.

There dukes and erles, lord and barone
Were take and slain, and that wel sone;
And sume were ledde into Lundone
With joy and merth and gret renone:
Deo gracias.

Now gracious God He save our King,
His peple, and alle his wel-willing;
Yef him good life and good ending,
That we with merth mowe savely sing
"Deo gracias.'