Hundred Years War

"Retourne to hym, and to them that sent you hyther, and say to them that they sende no more to me for any adventure that falleth, as long as my sonne is alyve; and also say to them that they suffre hym this day to wynne his spurres; for if God be pleased, I woll this journey be his and the honoure therof, and to them that be aboute hym."

"Gold on her head, and gold on her feet, And gold where the hems of her kirtle meet, And a golden girdle round my sweet;— ⁠Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.Margaret's maids are fair to see, Freshly dress'd and pleasantly; Margaret's hair falls down to her knee;— ⁠Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.If I were rich I would kiss her feet, I would kiss the place where the gold hems meet, And the golden girdle round my sweet— ⁠Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.Ah me! I have never touch'd her hand; When the arriere-ban goes through the land, Six basnets under my pennon stand;— ⁠Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.And many an one grins under his hood: "Sir Lambert de Bois, with all his men good, Has neither food nor firewood;"— ⁠Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.If I were rich I would kiss her feet, And the golden girdle of my sweet, And thereabouts where the gold hems meet;— ⁠Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.Yet even now it is good to think, While my few poor varlets grumble and drink In my desolate hall, where the fires sink,— ⁠Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.Of Margaret sitting glorious there, In glory of gold and glory of hair, And glory of glorious face most fair;— ⁠Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.Likewise to-night I make good cheer, Because this battle draweth near: For what have I to lose or fear?— ⁠Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.For, look you, my horse is good to prance A right fair measure in this war-dance, Before the eyes of Philip of France;— ⁠Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.And sometime it may hap, perdie, While my new towers stand up three and three, And my hall gets painted fair to see— ⁠Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.That folks may say: "Times change, by the rood, For Lambert, banneret of the wood, Has heaps of food and firewood;— ⁠Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite;—"And wonderful eyes, too, under the hood Of a damsel of right noble blood:" St. Ives, for Lambert of the wood!— ⁠Ah! quelle est belle La Marguerite."

"The Chronicle of Froissart, tr. Lord Berners, ed. W. P. Ker, Vol. 1 (London: David Nutt, 1901)"

"Andrew Ayton, The Battle of Crécy, 1346 (2005)"

"Richard W. Barber, Edward III and the Triumph of England (2013)"

"Rupert Matthews, The Battle of Crecy: A Campaign in Context (2007)"

"Barbara Tuchman, A Distant Mirror: The Calamitous 14th Century (1978)"

"War without fire is worth nothing—like sausages without mustard."

"May it please you, my Liege, there are enough to be kill'd, enough to be taken Priseners, and enough to run away."

"HENRY V was a most Heroick Prince; and his single Victory at Agencourt might have afforded Matter for more Volumes than (as far as I can yet learn) have been written on his whole Reign."

"Chorus: ... the very casques That did affright the air at Agincourt."

"King Henry: This day is called the feast of Crispian: He that outlives this day, and comes safe home, Will stand a tip-toe when the day is named, And rouse him at the name of Crispian. He that shall live this day, and see old age, Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours, And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian:' Then will he strip hissleeve and show his scars. And say 'These wounds I had on Crispin's day.' Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot, But he'll remember with advantages What feats he did that day: then shall our names. Familiar in his mouth as household words Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter, Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester, Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd."

"You, men of England, who have no right to this Kingdom of France, the King of Heaven orders and notifies you through me, Joan the Maiden, to leave your fortresses and go back to your own country; or I will produce a clash of arms to be eternally remembered. And this is the third and last time I have written to you; I shall not write anything further."

"King Henry: What is this castle call'd that stands hard by?Montjoy: They call it Agincourt.King Henry: Then call we this the field of Agincourt, Fought on the day of Crispin Crispianus."

"With Spanish yew so strong, Arrows a cloth-yard long That like to serpents stung, Piercing the weather; None from his fellow starts, But playing manly parts, And like true English hearts Stuck close together.When down their bows they threw, And forth their bilbos drew, And on the French they flew, Not one was tardy; Arms were from shoulders sent, Scalps to the teeth were rent, Down the French peasants went— Our men were hardy."

"Upon Saint Crispin’s Day Fought was this noble fray, Which fame did not delay To England to carry. O when shall English men With such acts fill a pen? Or England breed again Such a King Harry?"

"Agincourt, Agincourt! know ye not Agincourt? Where the English slew and hurt All the French foemen? With our guns and bills brown, O, the French were beat down, Morris-pikes and bowmen!"

"Montjoy: I come to thee for charitable licence, That we may wander o'er this bloody field To look our dead, and then to bury them; To sort our nobles from our common men. For many of our princes--woe the while!— Lie drown'd and soak'd in mercenary blood; So do our vulgar drench their peasant limbs In blood of princes; and their wounded steeds Fret fetlock deep in gore and with wild rage Yerk out their armed heels at their dead masters, Killing them twice. O, give us leave, great king, To view the field in safety and dispose Of their dead bodies!"

"In the XXI. yere, whan Kyng Philip of Frauns was fled thus cowardly fro the sege of Caleys, thei of the same town offered the town to Kyng Edward withoute any poyntment. And he lay in the town a month, considering the strong disposicion thereof. Thanne, at instauns of the Pope, was taken trews betwix the two Kyngis for a yere."

"Christine de Pizan argued passionately for the need to resolve the conflict, stating that 'Every kingdom divided in itself will be destroyed, and every city or house divided against its own good cannot endure.'"

"‘Poitiers and Cressy tell, When most their pride did swell, Under our swords they fell: No less our skill is Than when our grandsire great, Claiming the regal seat, By many a warlike feat Lopp’d the French lilies.’"

"The battle was "fierce and terrible," reports Froissart, "for battles on sea are more dangerous and fiercer than battles by land, for on the sea there is no recoiling or fleeing." Under the archers' attack the French were driven from the decks and, pursued by ill-luck and error, were engulfed in defeat.No one dared tell the outcome of the battle to Philip VI until his jester was thrust forward and said, "Oh, the cowardly English, the cowardly English!" and on being asked why, replied, "They did not jump overboard like our brave Frenchmen." The King evidently got the point. The fish drank so much French blood, it was said afterward, that if God had given them the power of speech they would have spoken in French."

"The most lasting and significant consequences of the war should be sought, perhaps, in the sphere of national psychology... For the victories were the victories, not only of the king and the aristocracy, but of the nation. The debt of the knightly classes to the skill and endurance of the common men who wielded the longbows and manned the ships was plain for all to see. War might be the sport of kings, but it was a sport from which the burgess, the yeoman, and the peasant were not shut out. National pride was no new phenomenon in the fourteenth century; but Sluys and Crécy, Poitiers and Nájera sowed the seeds of that confidence in the invincibility of England which was to sustain the spirit of her people through the darkest hours of many future wars."

"Throughout history, security as much as status has been an obstacle to summitry. In 1419 France was in turmoil from war with the English and a power struggle provoked by the periodic insanity of King Charles VI. On September 10 the dauphin, Charles’ son, conferred on a bridge near Rouen with their archrival, John, Duke of Burgundy. Both men were well attended by guards and a barrier had been erected in the middle, with a wicket gate bolted on either side to allow passage only by mutual consent. During the conference Duke John was persuaded to come through the gate—only to be cut down by the dauphin’s bodyguard. The dauphin, inheriting the throne as Charles VII, recovered much of France from the English. When his son, Louis XI, met the Yorkist king Edward IV at Picquigny near Amiens in 1475 to conclude a peace treaty, the fate of Duke John was much in mind. The chronicler Philippe de Commines tells how this conference was held on a bridge over the Somme. Louis insisted that across the middle of the bridge and along its sides his carpenters should build “a strong wooden lattice, such as lions’ cages are made with, the hole between each bar being no wider than to thrust in a man’s arm.” The two kings somehow managed to embrace between the holes and conducted their meeting in secure cordiality."