We have had good sport here.

The Lyakhs now know what Cossacks are.

We have avenged our faith to the extent of our ability; there is not much to satisfy greed in the famished city, and so my advice is to go." "To go," rang heavily through the Zaporozhian kurens.

But such words did not suit Taras Bulba at all; and he brought his frowning, iron-grey brows still lower down over his eyes, brows like bushes growing on dark mountain heights, whose crowns are suddenly covered with sharp northern frost.
"No, Koschevoi, your counsel is not good," said he.

"You cannot say that.