EPILOGUE.
|
| | CHORUS. | |
| | Thus far, with rough and all-unable pen, | |
| | Our bending author hath pursu'd the story, | |
| | In little room confining mighty men, | |
| | Mangling by starts the full course of their glory. | |
| | Small time, but in that small most greatly lived | |
| | This star of England. Fortune made his sword, | |
| | By which the world's best garden he achieved, | |
| | And of it left his son imperial lord. | |
| | Henry the Sixth, in infant bands crown'd King | |
| | Of France and England, did this king succeed; | |
| | Whose state so many had the managing, | |
| | That they lost France and made his England bleed: | |
| | Which oft our stage hath shown; and, for their sake, | |
| | In your fair minds let this acceptance take. | |
|
|
|
|
|
| |
 |
Get focused! Design your own program of study for the new SAT.
More...
|
|
|
 |
A concise guide to grammar, usage, and style.
More...
|
|
| |
| |
|
|
|
|
|
