English poem
Anna
by James Miller (1860–1947)
She is, thank Heaven! Hid in a friar’s disguise she pass’d the army; ’Twill not be well for Edward if he meets her; She wears a sharpen’d dagger in her bosom, As I do now, which I too soon may use. [A Soldier comes up and seizes the Female, while the OLD MAN grapples with him.