LORD MORTIMER. Right scornfully that angry maidHer dainty nose upturned ! She waved her lily hand, and thusHis tempting offer spurned: … GET hence! AVAUNT! I SCORN THY GOLD. THE BALLAD OF MARY JANE 11 Get hence ! avaiint! I scoru thy gold, Likewise th}^ pedigree!I plighted trotli to Benjamin, Who sails the briny sea. [Exit Mortimei-; enter father. Nay, verily, her father said ; Braid up thy golden hair;Prepare to die, if thou wilt…
Drama · Amusements
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