Oh take up your longbows and answer the call
To march to the muster, ye brave yeomen all.
We are the King's archers, strong, loyal and true,
Who rain feathered death from our stout bows of yew.
From the broad fields of Crecy to Agincourt mud,
Did the fleet steel-tipped arrows take tribute in blood.
The chivalry scorn us but they fall to the blows
We send swift and silent 'cross the fields with our bows.
Oh take up your longbows and answer the call
To march to the muster, ye brave yeomen all.
We are the King's archers, strong, loyal and true,
Who rain feathered death from our stout bows of yew.
We are not great Nobles who triumph with swords,
Nor bod Knights, rich Barons, or brave fighting Lords,
Nor yet are we soldiers who in shield wall stand,
But folk of the country bred strong as the land.
Oh take up your longbows and answer the call
To march to the muster, ye brave yeomen all.
We are the King's archers, strong, loyal and true,
Who rain feathered death from our stout bows of yew.
As strong as a yew tree with deep roots in the soil
The blood of the Kingdom, raised in truth and in toil,
We are the King's Archers and we answer his call,
To rain feathered death on his enemies all.
Oh take up your longbows and answer the call
To march to the muster, ye brave yeomen all.
We are the King's archers, strong, loyal and true,
Who rain feathered death from our stout bows of yew.