Night Fell Behind - Summoning

Then mounte!

Then mounte, brave gallants, all

And don your helmes amaine:

Deathes couriers, fame and honor, call

Us to the field again

No shrewish tears shall fill our eye

When the sword hilts in our hand

Heart-whole well part and no white sighe

For the fairest of the land;

Let piping swaine, and craven wight

Thus wheepe and puling crye

Our business is like men to fight

And hero like to die!