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"To fight for Englond's weal, I trow,
And good King Harry's right,
His loyal heart was warm and true,
His sword and buckler bright.
"That sword once felt the craven foe,
Its hilt was black with gore,
And many a mother's son did rue
His might at Agincourt.
"And now he stately steps his hall,
'A summons from the king?
My armour bright, my casque and plume,
My sword and buckler bring.
"'Blow, warder, blow. Thy horn is shrill,
My liegemen hither call,
For I must away to the south countrie,
And spears and lances all.'
"'Oh, go not to the south countrie!'
His lady weeping said;
'Oh, go not to the battle-field,
For I dreamed of the waters red!'
"'Oh, go not to the south countrie!'
Cried out his daughter dear;
'Oh, go not to the bloody fight,
For I dreamed of the waters clear!'
"Sir Bertine raised his dark visor,
And he kissed his fond lady;
'I must away to the wars and fight
For our king in jeopardy!'
"The lady gat her to the tower,
She clomb the battlement;
She watched and greet, while through the woods
The glittering falchions went.


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