those of our fellow-creatures who are still walking in the same
land of darkness and error, into the clear light of Christian truth.

The Author, to whom the following "Song of Agincourt" has been (p. 197)
familiar from his childhood, cannot refrain from inserting it here.
This is that ancient, and, as it is believed, contemporary ballad,
which has preserved to our times that golden stanza which appears in
the title page of these volumes; and every word of which reflects the
character of Henry as a hero and a merciful man. The quotation, also,
from Burnet's History of Music, and the contemporary song to which he
refers, will, it is presumed, be generally acceptable.

SONG OF AGINCOURT.

As our King lay on his bed,
All musing at the hour of prime,[148]
He bethought him of the King of France,
And tribute due for so long a time.

He called unto him his lovely page,
His lovely page then called he;
Saying, You must go to the King in France,
To the King in France right speedily.

Tell him to send me my tribute home,
Ten ton of gold that is due to me;
Unless he send me my tribute home,
Soon in French land I will him see.

Away then goes this lovely page (p. 198)
As fast, as fast as he could hie;
And, when he came to the King in France,
He fell all down on his bended knee.

My master greets you, sir, and says,
Ten ton of gold is due to me;
Unless you send me my tribute home,
You in French land soon shall see me.

Your master is young, and of tender age,
Not fit to come into my degree;
I'll send him home some tennis-balls
That with them he may learn for to play.

Away then goes this lovely page,
As fast, as fast as he could hie;
And, when he came to our gracious King,
He fell all down on his bended knee.

What news, what news, my trusty page?
What news, what news dost thou bring to me?
I bring such news from the King of France,
That you and he can never agree.

He says you are young, and of tender age,
Not fit to come up to his degree;
He has sent you home some tennis-balls,
That with them you may learn for to play.

Oh! then bespoke our noble King,
A solemn vow then vowed he;
I'll promise him such English balls
As in French land he ne'er did see.

Go! call up Cheshire and Lancashire, (p. 199)
And Derby hills