Граф Орлов
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Ambrose shouts at the top of his lungs, drowning out the roar and clang of the melee:
-- Drive him off! Mock him!
Cowardly Orwald, Florensana's son
He'd hide in a tower if he could
But can only cower in a corner!
E si sui vius, er mi grans benananza,
e si ieu muoir, er mi grans deliuriers
e si ieu muoir, er mi grans deliuriers