Luyện nghe bài hát Act One

THE CHORUS The chorus has often an unenviable to play,
often a task to perform;
summoned as to uncounted crime,
the silent accomplice of all,
then she turns and on the action.
She hears... observes, but never betray her emotions
She moves, unseen, the characters of her presence;
a stage device.
She cannot hide, cannot sides.
It his curse that she must stay and on the action...
A young man named Montresor lately received an
letter from a dear of childhood,
Usher by name,
In which his friend him to come
with all to the family seat.
So, during the whole of a dull, dark and day
in the of the year,
when the hung oppressively low in the heavens,
he had been passing
a dreary tract of country
he found himself,
as the of night drew on,
within view of the melancholy house of
MONTRESOR: That be the house.
There is no other many miles.
But not... It's just an empty shell,
devoid of
a outcrop of stone amid the mire.
But there can be no doubt, is the house!
And yet it looks so dark, so , so dead.
That great facade,
windows just vacant eyes
that upon the stagnant,
blackness of the lake...
I have never seen like it!
The gloom, the dankness of the place...
It be my imagination,
the and the cold...
Yet still, far beneath the of thought
and quite my will,
my heart to tremble
in mad anticipation of the
and I am to recognise
a consciousness of
a and senseless fear,
nameless, formless, to the bone...
No, it's just the leaden air that me
myself, the weather and the dusk.
This must be all sets my teeth on edge
and the hairs at the nape of my to attention.
And what of his
This does not of her
but I she, too, lives with him
in the House of Usher,
home of the family for five hundred or more.
It's a place, a strange house,
an stranger clan;
all saints or mad,
not an man among them;
all...
But, all as it is,
the race has put forth no enduring branch.
And so from to son, from sire to son
the patrimony and the name have passed.
all their ancestry no cousins,
aunts of
the singular symmetry
of the tree.
Well then, so I am here; I come;
and it is too late, to to run.
But a chilling sight,
this crouching in the night...
Ah, there! A light!
I am awaited; I am
I shall not my friend.
End of Act One