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FAIR BOSAHOND. |
287 |
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Her lippes, like to a corrall red,
Did waxe both wan and pale, And for the sorrow she conceived 75
Her vitall spirits did fayle. And falling downe all in a swound
Before King Henries face, Full oft betweene his princely armes
Her corpes he did imbrace. so
And twenty times, with waterie eyes,
He kist her tender cheeke, Untill she had received againe
Her senses milde and meeke. " Why grieves my Rose, my sweetest Rose ? " ss
The king did ever say: " Because," quoth she, " to bloody warres
My lord must part away.
" But sithe your Grace in forraine coastes,
Among your foes unkind, so
Must go to hazard life and limme,
Why should I stay behind ? " Nay, rather let me, like a page,
Your sword and target beare; That on my breast the blow may light, 9J
Which should annoy you there.
" O let me, in your royall tent,
Prepare your bed at night, And with sweet baths refresh your grace,
17. sound. 83. he had • aviv'd.—C. G.
94. shield: sword, Garl. G. W. |
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