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No. 14 - Chorus, Recit and Song - Harry - "To you, Sir Miles."


Chorus: We saw the swords upon our words!
The naked steel flash'd out!
The Bowling Green ran red between
With many a gory gout.
They cut and thrust with murd'rous lust,
We watched them from afar
Till, sore assail'd our courage fail'd,
We fled. Why, there they are.
Harry: You silly wenches!
Here's a pretty rout
Over a little friendly bout.
Chorus: A friendly bout!
The blood gush'd out, all crimson,
All crimson was the Green.
Lionel: There he stands, the Lord of Coverdale.
The stern Sir Miles. Go, tell your tale.
Harry: See the bride,
'Tis she must judge us
And so decide.
Harry: To you, Sir Miles, I'm charg'd to bear
My honour'd father's greeting,
And deep regrets he may not share
The pleasure of this meeting.
He claims the promise of his friend,
Nay, of his brother rather,
And to your daughter doth extend
The welcome of a father.
Such grace I claim of you.
Chorus: Such grace he claims, he claims of you.
Harry: Such grace...
Chorus: Such grace he claims of you.
Harry: I greet you thus all unprepar'd
Still soil'd with stains of travel,
For where impatient love hath dared
The lov'd one need not cavil.
Wheree'er we met 'twould be the same
Since 'twas for this I sought her.
I ask you in my father's name:
Bestow on me your daughter,
And thus redeem your pledge.
Chorus: And thus redeem, redeem your pledge,
Harry: And thus...
Chorus: And thus redeem your pledge.

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