| Lyrics: | King Henry Fifth's Conquest of France
A king was sitting on his throne,
And on his
throne was sitting he;
He bethought himself of a tribute due,
Been due in France so many
years.
Then he called up his little page,
His littIe page then called
he;
Saying, "You must go to the king of France
And demand that tribute due to
me."
Away, away went that little page,
Away, away and away went he,
Until he
came to the king of France,
Then he fell down on his bended knee.
"My master's great
as well as you,
My master's great as well as you;
He demands that tribute, tribute
due,
Or in French land you will him see."
"Your master's young, of tender
age,
Nor fit to come to my degree;
To him I send five tennis balls,
That in French
land he dare not be."
Away, away went that little page,
Away, away and away went
he,
Until he came to his master dear,
Then he fell down on his bended
knee.
"What news, what news, my little page
What news, what news do you bring to
me?"
"Such news, such news, my master dear
The king and you will not
agree."
"He says you're young, of tender age,
Not fit to come to his degree;
To
you he sends five tennis balls,
That in French land you dare not be."
The king he
numbered up his men,
One by two and two by three,
Until he got thirty thousand men,
A
noble jolly bold company.
"No married men, no widow's son,
No married men can follow
me;
No married men, no widow's son,
A widow's son can't follow me."
Now he's
marched off to the King of France
With drums and trumpets so merrily
And the first that
spoke was the King of France
Saying, "Yonder comes proud King Henry"
The first
broadside those Frenchmen gave
They slew our men so bitterly;
And the next broadside our
English gave
They killed five thousand and thirty-three.
And the next that spoke was
the King of France
Saying: "Lord, have mercy on my men and me."
"Now if you'll march
back from whence you came
With drums and trumpets so merrily,
The finest flower in all
French land,
Five tons of gold shall be your fee."
Now he's marched back from whence
he came
With drums and trumpets so merrily
W'ith the finest flower in all French
land
Five tons of gold now is his fee.
From New Green Mountain Songster, Flanders et
al.
Child #164
@England @war @royalty
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