Some have good looks, some titles, lands and riches
Two dozen virtues, and half-score again,
Slashes and bruises, battle scars and stitches
Are finer treasures of the fighting men.
Battle of Maas, heavy leaden mace,
Fresh scar is crossing count’s noble face
Climb up the walls to get to fresher air,
Captains are drunk, and orders are in vain,
It is far better to be gutted there,
Than to be rotting on a prison chain.
Blockade of Maas, no more falling back,
Fresh scar is crossing count’s mighty neck
Empty wine bottles fall from the guard tower,
If you look up, you’ll get one in your face,
Lord save us all, for we are in his power,
And are not ready to receive his grace.
Silver of Maas, barracks in unrest,
Fresh scar is crossing count’s knightly chest.
Torches are lit among the bombardiers,
Guns fire at walls to breach for the advance,
What if we fail, when victory is near,
What will then happen to the men of France?
Towers of Maas, Flanders’ own pride,
Fresh scar is running down count’s side.
Those that are killed will pass beyond all sorrows,
Those that still live will carry on the fray
We may be courting lady Death tomorrow,
We will make Maas our own today.
A most foul blow has marked good count for life,
Greatly distressing count’s lovely wife.