human
Richard ill can spare Thee and thy Templars, false and fair; Yet God hath willed it--home to thee, Death or Jerusalem for me! Then pressing with a knightly kiss The peerless hand that slept in his,
gpt
Ah, would our own Blondel were here To try a measure I wove last e'en. What songster hast thou caught, my Queen, Whose harp may soothe a Monarch's ear?