'Twas the eve of battle that good King Harold
didst summon his knights unto the table round and said:
"Let's have no idle tittle-tattle of impending defeat,
we'll quaff fine mead and feast on roasted boar, instead."

*

Now old King Harold was a merry old soul, and a merry old soul was he,
yet he'd riled young William of Normandy, so they didn't see eye to eye.
He'd thieved a sword from the lady of the lake, had corked the wine and burnt the cake,
baked twenty-four blackbirds in a pie, so they didn't see eye to eye,
alas, they didn't see eye to eye.

*

'Twas the eve of the battle, in the middle of the night, Harold called for his fiddlers three,
 and once every fiddler had fiddled him fine he went for a stroll by the sea.
Beneath white cliffs on golden sands, the faithful knelt to wash his feet.
By his command, with wave of hand, the mighty waves turned in retreat.

*

Now old King Harold was a brave old soul who had ten thousand men,
he marched them up to the top of a hill to face the raging storm.
Far down below, young William rode, a kingdom was his yen,    
by his command the ranks advanced, enraged and hurling scorn. 

*
 
Then youthful Will' marched up the hill, marched up the hill did he,
and all Harold's horses and all Harold's men couldn't best the son of Normandy.
So Harold shall turn the tides no more, for he's buried in a grave beside the shore,
whilst young Will' sits upon the throne; that's one in the eye for thee, dear Harold,
that's one in the eye for thee.