Tell him when that our princely father York
Bless'd his three sons with his victorious arm
And charg'd us from his soul to love each other,
He little thought of this divided friendship.
Tell him when that our princely father York
Bless'd his three sons with his victorious arm
And charg'd us from his soul to love each other,
He little thought of this divided friendship.
For bounty, that makes gods, does still mar men. My dearest lord, bless'd, to be most accursed, Rich, only to be wretched, thy great fortunes; Are made thy chief afflictions.
Ambition first sprung from your bless'd abodes; The glorious fault of angels and of gods.
A spring of love gush'd from my heart, And I bless'd them unaware.
Never elated when one man 's oppress'd Never dejected while another 's bless'd.
But if your father had been victor there,
He ne'er had borne it out of Coventry;
For all the country, in a general voice,
Cried hate upon him; and all their prayers and love
Were set on Hereford, whom they doted on,
And bless'd and grac'd indeed more than the King.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories