english
Texto del Guión Gráfico
- Your son, my lord, has paid a soldier ’s debt. He only lived but till he was a man, The which no sooner had his prowess confirmed In the unshrinking station where he fought , But like a man he
- so hes dead?
- Ay, and brought off the field. Your cause of sorrow Must not be measured by his worth, for then It hath no end.
- Had he his hurts before?
- Ay, on the front
- Why then, God’s soldier be he! Had I as many sons as I have hairs, I would not wish them to a fairer death. And so, his knell is knolled.
- He’s worth more sorrow, And that I’ll spend for him.
- He’s worth no more. The y say he parted well and paid his score. And so, God be with him! Here comes ne wer comfort
- Hail, king! For so thou art . Behold where stands The usurper ’s cursèd head. The time is free. I see thee compassed with thy kingdom’s pearl, That speak my salutation in their minds, Whose voices I desire aloud with mine. Hail, King of Scotland!
- Hail, King of Scotland!
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