Yet have we well begun, Battles so bravely won Have ever to the sun By fame been raisëd.
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.
When faith is kneeling by his bed of death, And innocence is closing up his eyes, Now if thou wouldst, when all have given him over, From death to life thou might’st him yet recover.
Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part.
The coast was clear.
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For that fine madness still he did retain Which rightly should possess a poet’s brain.
Had in him those brave translunary things That the first poets had.
Dear, why should you command me to my rest, When now the night doth summon all to sleep? Methinks this time becometh lovers best; Night was ordain'd together friends to keep.