ROBERT HENRYSON.

1425 ?-1480?

THE BLUIDY SARK.

This hinder year I heard be told,
There was a worthy King :
Dukès, earlès, and barons bold,
He had at his bidding.

The Lord was anciènt, and old,
And sixty years could ring;
He had a daughter, fair to fold
A lusty Lady ying.

Of all fairhead she bore the flower,
And eke her father's heir,
Of lusty laitis and high honoùr,
Meek, but and debonair.
She wynnit in a bigly bower,
On fold was none so fair;
Princes loved her par amour,
In countries everywhere.

There dwelt a little beside the King

A foul Giant of ane;

Stolen he has the Lady ying,—

Away with her is gane;

And kept her in his dungeoning, Where light she might see nane : Hunger and cold, and great thirsting, She found into her waine.

He was the loathliest on the look

That on the ground might gang: His nails was like an hellis-cruik, Therewith five quarters lang. There was nane that he o'ertook, In right or yet in wrang,

But all in sunder he them shook :
The Giant was so strang.

He held the Lady day and night
Within his deep dungeon;
He would nought give of her a sight
For gold, nor yet ransòm,—
But if the King might get a Knight
To fight with his person,

To fight with him both day and night
Till one were dinged down.

The King made seek baith far and near,
Baith by sea and land,

Of any Knight if he might hear
Would fight with that Gyand.
A worthy Prince, that had no peer,
Has ta'en the deed in hand,
For the love of the Lady clear;
And held full true cunnand.

That Prince came proudly to the town
Of that Giant to hear;

And fought with him, his ain person,

And took him prisoner;

And cast him in his ain dungeon,

Alone, withouten fere,

With hunger, cold, and confusiòn,

As full well worthy were.

Syne brake the bower, had home the bright Unto her father [free].

Sae evil wounded was the Knight,

That he behoved to dee: Unlusome was his [body] dight,

His sark was all bluidy :

In all the world was there a wight
So piteous for to see?

The Lady mourned and made great moan,

With all her mickle might:

"I lovèd never Love but one,

That dolefully now is dight.

God send my life were from me tone
Ere I had seen your sight,

Or else in begging ever to gone

Forth with you, courteous Knight!"

He said "Fair Lady! now must I
Die, trustly ye me trow :

Take ye my sark, that is bluidy,
And hang it before you!

First think on it, and syne on me,
When men comes you to woo !"
The Lady said-" By Mary free,
Thereto I make a vow."

When that she looked to the sark,
She thought on the person,
And prayed for him with all her heart
That loosed her of bandoùn,

Where she was wont to sit full merk
In that deep dungèòn :

And ever while she was in quert,
That was her a lesson.

So well the Lady loved the Knight
That no man would she take.
So should we do our God of might
That did all for us make,
Which fullèly to death was dight
For sinful man [his] sake.

So should we do, both day and night
With prayers to him make!

MICHAEL DRAYTON.
1563 ?-1631.

THE BALLAD OF AGINCOURT.

Fair stood the wind for France
When we our sails advance,
Nor now to prove our chance
Longer will tarry;

But putting to the main,

At Kaux, the mouth of Seine,
With all his martial train
Landed King Harry.

And, taking many a fort,
Furnish'd in warlike sort,
Marcheth tow'rds Agincourt
In happy hour,

(Skirmishing day by day
With those oppose his way)

Where the French General lay

With all his power.

Which, in his height of pride

King Henry to deride,

His ransom to provide

To the King sending;

Which he neglects the while,
As from a nation vile,

Yet with an angry smile

Their fall portending.

And, turning to his men,
Quoth our brave Henry then :
66 Though they to one be ten,
Be not amazed!

Yet have we well begun ;
Battles so bravely won

Have ever to the sun

By Fame been raised

"And for myself"-quoth he,"This my full rest shall be, England ne'er mourn for me Nor more esteem me ;

Victor I will remain

Or on this earth lie slain :

Never shall she sustain

Loss to redeem me.

"Poictiers and Cressy tell,

When most their pride did swell,
Under our swords they fell:

No less our skill is

Than when our grandsire great,
Claiming the regal seat,

By many a warlike feat

Lopp'd the French lilies."

The Duke of York so dread
The eager vanward led;
With the main Henry sped

Amongst his henchmen;
Excester had the rear,
A braver man not there,-
O Lord! how hot they were
On the false Frenchmen!

They now to fight are gone :
Armour on armour shone,
Drum now to drum did groan-

To hear was wonder;

That, with the cries they make,
The very earth did shake;
Trumpet to trumpet spake,—

Thunder to thunder.