Owre kynge went forth to Normandy, With grace and myght of chyvalry; Ther God for hym wrought mervlusly, Wherfore Englonde may calle and cry, Deo gratias, Deo gratias anglia, redde pro victoria.
He sette a sege, for sothe to say, To Harflu toune with ryal aray; That toune he wan and made a fray, That Fraunce shall rewe tyl domesday. Deo gratias, &c.
Then went owre kynge, with alle his oste, Thorowe Fraunce for all the Frenshe boste; He spared for drede of leste, ne most, Tyl he come to Agincourt coste; Deo gratias, &c.
Than for sothe that knyght comely, In Agincourt feld he faught manly; Thorow grace of God most myghty He had bothe the felde, and the victory; Deo gratias, &c.
Ther dukys, and erlys, lorde and barone, Were take and slayne, and that wel sone, And som were ledde in to Lundone With joye, and merthe, and grete renone; Deo gratias, &c.
Now gratious God he save owre kynge, His peple and all his welwyllynge, Gef him gode lyfe and gode endynge, That we with merth mowe savely synge; Deo gratias, &c.