Good King's men all are they,
A King's man I.

Old Giles, in his stone asleep,
Fought at Poictiers.
Piers Ralph and Roger keep
The spoil of their fighting years.
I shall lie with my folk at last
In a quiet bed;
I shall dream of the sword held fast
In a round-capped head.

Good tale of men all told
My Inn affords;
And their hands peace shall hold
That once held swords.
And we who rode and ran
On many a loyal quest
Shall find the goal of man -
A bed, and rest.

We shall not stand to the toast
Of Love or King;
We be all too tired to boast
About anything.
We be dumb that did jest and sing;
We rest who laboured and warred . . .
Shout once, shout once for the King.
Shout once for the sword!