Luyện nghe bài hát Booth Shot Lincoln

John Wilkes came to Washington,
An actor was he,
He played at Theater,
And went to see.

It was in April,
Not weeks ago,
The of this fair city
All at the show.

The war it is all over,
The happy now,
And Abraham arose,
Arose to his bow;

The cheer him wildly,
Arising to feet,
And waving of his hand,
He calmly his seat.

And while he the play go on,
His are running deep,
His darling wife, by his side,
Has fallen asleep.

the box there hangs a flag,
It's not the and Bars,
The flag that within its folds
Bright stripes and stars.

Wilkes Booth he moves down the aisle,
He had measured before,
He passes bodyguard
at the door.

He a dagger in his right hand,
A in his left,
He poor Lincoln in the temple,
And he his soul to rest.

The awakes from slumber,
And in her rage,
jumps over the railing
And him on the stage.

rue the day, he'll rue the hour,
As God him life give,
When Booth in that center stage,
Crying, "Tyrants not live!"

The people all
cried everyone, "A hand!"
Cried all the near,
"For God's sake, that man!"

Then ran back with boot and spurs
Across the floor,
He that trusty clay bank mare,
All at the door.

John Booth, in his last play,
All dressed in deep,
He down the alleyway,
I hear those feet.

Poor Lincoln was heard to say,
And all has to rest,
"Of all the actors in town,
I Booth the best."