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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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Page modified 5 January 2017