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Agincourt

Bowman, thou art fit and strong,
Armed with a bow, six foot long,
A weapon made, for war and death,
Defend the right, til your last breath.

Draw me an arrow, straight and long,
Aim it at that Motley throng,
There stands our foresworn enemy,
Fighting, like us, to be free.

The odds, are six to one my friend,
But that did not matter in the end,
Thirty thousand made a Stance,
Fighting for their king and France.

They faced six thousand men of war
Led by a king, whose cause was sure,
Bowmen from the Hills of Wales,
Yeomen from the English Vales

The thirty thousand French were brave,
But the charge they made, was to the grave,
On muddied ground, beneath a blackened sky,
They died by thousands, in a field of Rye.

A bowman’s rate of fire, is great,
Ten arrows per minute they estimate,
At Agincourt five thousand men,
Released a quarter of a million then.
.
That was the day that chivalry died,
Honour, was challenged and defied,
So many prisoners could not be left,
To challenge their rear and leave them bereft.

Henry would not take the bond,
That prisoners would not abscond,
He put them to the sword, to die,
Ten thousand on that bloody field,still lie.

Henry was English,a pragmatic King,
Chivalry is pointless, if you lose everything,
He won  the  war,  without  disgrace,
England  now  was  a    safer  place.

Bowman  thou  art  fit  and  strong,
Armed  with  a  bow,  six  foot  long, 
A  weapon  made,  for  war  and  death, 
Defend  the  right,  til  your  last  breath

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