Le Roy Engloys se faisoit appeler
Le Roy de France par s’appellation.
Il a voulu hors du païs mener
Les bons François hors de leur nation.

Or est-il mort à Sainct-Fiacre en Brye,
Du pays de France ils sont tous déboutez.
Il n’est plus mot de ces Engloys couez.
Mauldite en soit trestoute la lignye!

Ils ont chargé l’artillerie sur mer,
Force biscuit et chascun ung bidon,
Et par la mer jusqu’en Bisquaye aller
Pour couronner leur petit roy Godon.

Mais leur effort n’est rien que moquerie:
Cappitaine Prégent lez a si bien frottez
Qu’ils ont esté terre et mer enfondrez.
Mauldite en soit trestoute la lignye!

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The English King named himself
The King of France by his own designation.
He wanted to throw out,
The good French people out of their nation.

But he died in Saint-Fiacre in Brie,
From the country of France they've all been thrown.
No more is spoken of these English tails.
May their whole lineage be cursed!

They have charged the artillery to the sea,
Lots of biscuit and each one a tummy,
And by the sea up to Biscay they go,
To crown their little Godon king.

But their effort is nothing but mockery:
Captain Prégent fought them well
And they've been buried on land and sea.
May their whole lineage be cursed!