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Updated: May 11, 2025
Weil der gute Amfortas So lang in bittern Schmerzen lag, Und ihn die Frage lange mied, Ist ihnen alles Fragen leid; All des Grales Dienstgesellen Wollen sich nicht mehr fragen lassen. The same explanation is made in the mediaeval poem "Lohengrin."
I had rather watch, Sir, If you sitt up, for I know you will wake me. Leid. Indeed I will not; goe, I have much to doe; Prethee to bed; I will not waken thee. Boy. Pray, Sir, leave wryting till to morrow. Leid. Why, Boy? Boy. You slept but ill last night, and talkd in your sleep, too; Tumbled and tooke no rest. Leid. I ever doe soe.
Dye uncompelld, and mock their preparations, Their envyes and their Justice. Leid. Dye? Bar. Dye willingly, Dye sodainely and bravely: So will I: Then let 'em sift our Actions from our ashes. I looke to-morrow to be drawne before 'em; And doe you thinck, I, that have satt a Judge And drawne the thred of life to what length I pleasd, Will now appeare a Prisoner in the same place?
But I hope 'tis more, Sir. Or. Theis must in first; 'Twill breed a good securitie. 1 Cap. We stand all ready for your Grace. Or. We thanck ye. 1 Cap. What Companies come on, Sir. Or. Three Troope of horse, That will be with ye presently: keepe strong the Port. 1 Cap. Enter when please your Grace; we shall stand sure, Sir. Enter Leidenberge, Vandermitten, Rock Giles. Leid.
The Prince of Orange now, all names are lost els! That hees alone the Father of his Cuntrie! Said you not so? Leid. I speake the peoples Language. Bar. That to his arme and sword the Provinces owe Their flourishing peace? that hees the armyes soule By which it moves to victorie? Mod. So 'tis said, Sir. Leid.
Tarry for such an ebb? No, Leidenberch: The narrowest dore of death I would work through first Ere I turne Slave to stick their gawdy triumphes. Leid. Dye, did you say? dye wilfully? Bar. Dye any way, Dye in a dreame: he that first gave us honours Allowes us also safe waies to preserve 'em, To scape the hands of infamy and tirrany. Leid. 'Tis no great paine. Bar.
One blow, one short peece of an howre dos this, And this cures all; maintaines no more phisitians, Restores our memories, and there's the great cure, Where, if we stay the fatall Sword of Justice, It moawes the man downe first, and next his fashion, His living name, his creadit. Leid.
I was just a bairn, an' clum in Sandie's boat, whaur I thocht I would see the best of the employ. My grandsire gied Sandie a siller tester to pit in his gun wi' the leid draps, bein' mair deidly again bogles. And then the ae boat set aff for North Berwick, an' the tither lay whaur it was and watched the wanchancy thing on the brae-side.
Goe you; talke to the Arminians, And raise their harts. Good Ladies, no more Councells: This is no time to puppet in. 1 D. W. We are gon, Sir, 2 D. W. And will so coniure up our lazie husbands. Eng.-gentw. Leid. What's she? Vand. An English woman. Leid. Would they were all shipt well To th' other part oth' world. Theis stubborne English We onely feare. Vand. We are strong enough to curb 'em.
His Motto, or old rhymed Prayer, which he would repeat on getting into the saddle for military work, a rough rhyme of his own composing, is still preserved. Das Walt der Herr Jesus Christ, Mit dem Vater, der uber uns ist: Wer starker ist als dieser Mann, Der komm und thu' ein Leid mir an.
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