当我们扬帆前进时，法国的风是美丽的;现在也不是为了证明我们的机会会长久停留;但最终，在塞纳河河口科克斯，带着全副武装的哈里国王登陆。攻陷了许多堡垒，准备好了作战的装备，在欢乐的时刻向阿金库尔进军;与那些阻挡他前进的人日复一日地战斗，法国将军用他所有的力量躺在那里。狂妄自大的亨利国王嘲笑他，把他的赎金交给派来的国王;他一时不理会，仿佛来自一个邪恶的民族，却带着愤怒的微笑，预示着他们的堕落。于是，我们勇敢的亨利转身对他的手下说:“虽然他们是十个人，但不要惊讶。然而，我们已经开始了:战斗如此勇敢地赢得了太阳由名声升起!“至于我自己，”他说，“这将是我完全的安息:英国从不为我哀悼，也不再尊重我; Victor I will remain, Or on this earth lie slain; Never shall she sustain Loss to redeem me! "Poitiers 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 vaward 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 cries they make, The very earth did shake; Trumpet to trumpet spake, Thunder to thunder. Well it thine age became, O noble Erpingham, Which didst the signal aim To our hid forces; When, from a meadow by, Like a storm suddenly, The English archery Stuck the French horses With Spanish yew so strong, Arrows a cloth-yard long, That like to serpents stung, Piercing the weather. None from his fellow starts, But playing manly parts, And like true English hearts Stuck close together. When down their bows they threw, And forth their bilboes drew, And on the French they flew, Not one was tardy; Arms were from shoulders sent, Scalps to the teeth were rent, Down the French peasants went: Our men were hardy. This while our noble King, His broad sword brandishing, Down the French host did ding, As to o'erwhelm it. And many a deep wound lent, His arms with blood besprent, And many a cruel dent Bruised his helmet. Gloster, that duke so good, Next of the royal blood, For famous England stood With his brave brother. Clarence, in steel so bright, Though but a maiden knight, Yet in that furious fight Scarce such another! Warwick in blood did wade, Oxford the foe invade, And cruel slaughter made, Still as they ran up. Suffolk his axe did ply; Beaumont and Willoughby Bare them right doughtily; Ferrers and Fanhope. Upon Saint Crispin's Day Fought was this noble fray, Which fame did not delay To England to carry. O when shall English men With such acts fill a pen, Or England breed again Such a King Harry?