Текст песни The Yeomen of the Guard, Act I: "Nay, pretty one" - "Is life a boon?" - Kurt Streit feat. Academy of St. Martin in the Fields & Sir Neville Marriner
                                                Ah, 
                                                pretty 
                                                one, 
                                                why 
                                                wepest 
                                                thou?
 
                                    
                                
                                                Come, 
                                                be 
                                                comforted
 
                                    
                                
                                                Such 
                                                    a 
                                                life 
                                                as 
                                                mine 
                                                is 
                                                not 
                                                worth 
                                                weeping 
                                                for
 
                                    
                                
                                                Is 
                                                life 
                                                    a 
                                                boon?
 
                                    
                                
                                                If 
                                                so, 
                                                it 
                                                must 
                                                befall, 
                                                that 
                                                death
 
                                    
                                
                                                Whene'er 
                                                he 
                                                call, 
                                                must 
                                                call 
                                                too 
                                                soon
 
                                    
                                
                                                Though 
                                                four 
                                                score 
                                                years 
                                                he 
                                                give, 
                                                yet
 
                                    
                                
                                                One 
                                                would 
                                                pray 
                                                to 
                                                live 
                                                another 
                                                moon
 
                                    
                                
                                                What 
                                                kind 
                                                of 
                                                plaint 
                                                have 
                                                I, 
                                                who 
                                                perish 
                                                in 
                                                July, 
                                                who 
                                                perish 
                                                in 
                                                July?
 
                                    
                                
                                                    I 
                                                might 
                                                have 
                                                had 
                                                to 
                                                die, 
                                                perchance 
                                                in 
                                                June
 
                                    
                                
                                                    I 
                                                might 
                                                have 
                                                had 
                                                to 
                                                die, 
                                                perchance 
                                                in 
                                                June
 
                                    
                                
                                                Is 
                                                life 
                                                    a 
                                                thorn?
 
                                    
                                
                                                Then 
                                                count 
                                                it 
                                                not 
                                                    a 
                                                whit
 
                                    
                                
                                                Nay, 
                                                count 
                                                it 
                                                not 
                                                    a 
                                                whit
 
                                    
                                
                                                Man 
                                                is 
                                                well 
                                                done 
                                                with 
                                                it
 
                                    
                                
                                                Soon 
                                                as 
                                                he's 
                                                born, 
                                                he 
                                                should 
                                                all 
                                                means 
                                                essay, 
                                                to 
                                                put 
                                                the 
                                                plague 
                                                away
 
                                    
                                
                                                And 
                                                I, 
                                                woe, 
                                                one, 
                                                    a 
                                                captured 
                                                fugitive, 
                                                my 
                                                life 
                                                most 
                                                gladly 
                                                give
 
                                    
                                
                                                    I 
                                                might 
                                                have 
                                                had 
                                                to 
                                                live 
                                                another 
                                                moon
 
                                    
                                
                                                    I 
                                                might 
                                                have 
                                                had 
                                                to 
                                                live, 
                                                to 
                                                live 
                                                another 
                                                moon
 
                                    
                                 
                            1 The Yeomen of the Guard, Act I: "'Tis done! I am a bride!"
2 The Yeomen of the Guard / Act 1: "Oh, how I would love thee!" - "Where I thy bride"
3 The Yeomen of the Guard, Act II: "Well, Sergeant Meryll"
4 The Yeomen of the Guard, Act I: "Oh, Sergeant Meryll" - "Ye Tower Warders" - "Leonard Meryll!" - "Forbear, my friends" - "Didst thou not" - "Leonard!" - "As escort for the prisoner"
5 The Yeomen of the Guard, Act II: "Hark! What was that, sir?" - "Who fired that shot?" "Like a ghost his vigil keeping." - "The river must be dragged"
6 The Yeomen of the Guard / Act 2: "When a wooer goes a-wooing"
7 The Yeomen of the Guard, Act I: "The deed is, so far, safely accompished"
8 The Yeomen of the Guard, Act I: "Well sung and well danced!"
9 The Yeomen of the Guard, Act II: "Night has spread her pall once more"
10 The Yeomen of the Guard, Act II: "Nay, sweetheart, be comforted"
11 The Yeomen of the Guard, Act II: "Strange adventure!"
12 The Yeomen of the Guard, Act II: "Now listen to me"
13 The Yeomen of the Guard, Act II: "Before I pretend to be a sister to anybody again"
14 The Yeomen of the Guard, Act II: "Rapture, rapture!"
15 The Yeomen of the Guard, Act II: "So my mysterious bride"
16 The Yeomen of the Guard, Act I: "And now, Sir Richard"
17 The Yeomen of the Guard, Act I: "'Tis an odd freak"
18 The Yeomen of the Guard, Act I: "But I trust you are very careful"
19 The Yeomen of the Guard, Act II: "Comes the pretty young bride" - "'Tis said to you" - "Hold, pretty one!"
20 The Yeomen of the Guard, Act II: "Two days gone"
21 The Yeomen of the Guard, Act II: "Free from his fetters grim"
22 The Yeomen of the Guard, Act II: "The merry jests of Hugh Ambrose"
23 The Yeomen of the Guard, Act II: "And so thou wouldst be a jester, eh?"
24 The Yeomen of the Guard, Act II: "Hereupon we're both agreed"
25 The Yeomen of the Guard, Act I: "And so, good fellow" - "I've jibe and joke"
26 The Yeomen of the Guard, Act I: "Here's a man of jollity"
27 The Yeomen of the Guard, Act I: "I have a song to sing, The Yeomen of the Guard, Act I
28 The Yeomen of the Guard: Overture
29 The Yeomen of the Guard, Act I: "Mistress Meryll!"
30 The Yeomen of the Guard, Act I: "Tower warders under orders"
31 The Yeomen of the Guard, Act I: "A good day to you!"
32 The Yeomen of the Guard, Act I: "When our gallant Norman foes"
33 The Yeomen of the Guard, Act I: "Father! Has no reprieve arrived"
34 The Yeomen of the Guard, Act I: "Alas! I waver to and fro"
35 The Yeomen of the Guard, Act I: "Nay, lass, be of good cheer"
36 The Yeomen of the Guard, Act I: "Nay, pretty one" - "Is life a boon?"
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