THE FYGHTYNGE SEVENTHIt is the gallant Seventh—It fyghteth faste and free!God wot the where it fyghtethI ne desyre to be.The Gonfalon it flyeth,Seeming a Flayme in Sky;The Bugel loud yblowen is,Which sayeth, Doe and dye!And (O good Saints defende usAgaynst the Woes of Warr)Drawn Tongues are flashing deadlyTo smyte the Foeman sore!With divers kinds of RiddanceThe smoaking Earth is wet,And all aflowe to seaward goeThe Torrents wide of Sweat!The Thunder of the Captens,And eke the Shouting, maykethSuch horrid Din the Soule withinThe boddy of me quayketh!Who fyghteth the bold Seventh?What haughty Power defyes?Their Colonel 'tis they drubben sore,And dammen too his Eyes!
It is the gallant Seventh—It fyghteth faste and free!God wot the where it fyghtethI ne desyre to be.The Gonfalon it flyeth,Seeming a Flayme in Sky;The Bugel loud yblowen is,Which sayeth, Doe and dye!And (O good Saints defende usAgaynst the Woes of Warr)Drawn Tongues are flashing deadlyTo smyte the Foeman sore!With divers kinds of RiddanceThe smoaking Earth is wet,And all aflowe to seaward goeThe Torrents wide of Sweat!The Thunder of the Captens,And eke the Shouting, maykethSuch horrid Din the Soule withinThe boddy of me quayketh!Who fyghteth the bold Seventh?What haughty Power defyes?Their Colonel 'tis they drubben sore,And dammen too his Eyes!