Rondeau

If deep thy poignard thou would'st drench, In blood, to venge old Blenheim's woes, My enemies, boy, are the French, And all who are my country's foes.

Shall I receive an added day Of life, when crimes your name shall brand? No, never let detraction say, That virtue arm'd a murderer's hand.

If deep, &c.

Of anger then, no single breath, Respire for my poor sake—but since You've spirit to encounter death, Die for your country, and your prince.

If deep, &c.