Reliques of Ancient English Poetry: Consisting of Old Heroic Ballads, Songs, and Other Pieces of Our Earlier Poets : Together with Some Few of Later Date, Volym 2

L.A. Lewis, 1839 - 307 sidor
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Sida 368 - Why so pale and wan, fond lover? Prithee, why so pale? Will, when looking well can't move her. Looking ill prevail? Prithee, why so pale?
Sida 334 - An old song, made by an aged old pate, Of an old worshipful gentleman who had a great estate, That kept a brave old house at a bountiful rate, And an old porter to relieve the poor at his gate...
Sida 330 - The first is to tell him there in that stead, With his crowne of golde so fair on his head, Among all his liege-men so noble of birth, To within one penny of what he is worth. " The seconde, to tell him, without any doubt, How soone he may ride this whole world about.
Sida 330 - How soone he may ride this whole world about: And at the third question I must not shrinke, But tell him there truly what he does thinke.
Sida 138 - Nought save a rope with renning noose, That dangling hung up o'er his head. And over it in broad letters, These words were written so plain to see : " Ah ! gracelesse wretch, hast spent thine all, And brought thyselfe to penurie?
Sida 201 - But the arrow bounded back agen. Then Horseley spyed a privye place With a perfect eye in a secrette part ; Under the spole of his right arme He smote Sir Andrew to the heart.
Sida 393 - He was in these to meet his ruin. The boy took out his milk-white, milk-white steed, Unheedful of my dule and sorrow; But ere the tofall of the night He lay a corpse on the Braes of Yarrow.
Sida 322 - Tell zeal it lacks devotion, Tell love it is but lust, Tell time it, is but motion, Tell flesh it is but dust; And wish them not reply, For thou must give the lie.
Sida 399 - Thus, like thee, proud Spain dismaying, And her galleons leading home, Though condemn'd for disobeying, I had met a traitor's doom, To have fallen, my country crying He has play'd an English part, Had been better far than dying Of a griev'd and broken heart. Unrepining at thy glory, Thy successful arms we hail; But remember our sad story, And let Hosier's wrongs prevail. Sent in this foul clime to languish, Think what thousands fell in vain, Wasted with disease and anguish, Not in glorious battle...
Sida 334 - You curious chanters of the wood, That warble forth Dame Nature's lays, Thinking your passions understood By your weak accents ; what's your praise, When Philomel her voice shall raise? You violets that first appear, By your pure purple mantles known Like the proud virgins of the year, As if the spring were all your own; What are you when the rose is blown?

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