Lyrics:

Then mounte! Then mounte, brave gallants, all,
And don your helmes amaine:
Deathe's couriers, Fame and Honor, call
Us to the field againe.

No shrewish tears shall fill our eye
When the sword hilt's in our hand,
Heart-whole we'll part and no whit sighe
For the fayrest of the land;

Let piping swaine, and craven wight,
Thus weepe and puling crye,
Our business is like men to fight,
And hero like to die!
And hero like to die!