His coomb was redder than the fyn coral, And batailled as it were a castle wal; His byle was blak, and as the jeet it shoon; Lyk asure were his legges and his toon; His nayles whitter than the lylye flour, And lyk the burned gold was his colour.
Niech na ca?ym ?wiecie wojna, byle polska wie? zaciszna, byle polska wie? spokojna.
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