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, 3±ÇF.C. and J. Rivington, 1812 |
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28 ÆäÀÌÁö
... it no older than the time of Hen . VII . but it seems to be quoted in Syr Bevis , ( Sign . K. ij . b . ) It begins , Lordinges , that are leffe and deare . In the Library of Bennet Coll . Cambridge , No. In 28 ON THE ANCIENT.
... it no older than the time of Hen . VII . but it seems to be quoted in Syr Bevis , ( Sign . K. ij . b . ) It begins , Lordinges , that are leffe and deare . In the Library of Bennet Coll . Cambridge , No. In 28 ON THE ANCIENT.
61 ÆäÀÌÁö
... The spice was never soe sweete . Sir Gawaine kiss'd that lady brighte , Lying there by his side : 110 " The fairest flower is not soe faire : Thou never can'st bee my bride . ¡± I am thy bride , mine owne deare lorde , I am SIR GAWAINE . 61.
... The spice was never soe sweete . Sir Gawaine kiss'd that lady brighte , Lying there by his side : 110 " The fairest flower is not soe faire : Thou never can'st bee my bride . ¡± I am thy bride , mine owne deare lorde , I am SIR GAWAINE . 61.
62 ÆäÀÌÁö
... deare lorde , The same whiche thou didst knowe , That was soe lothlye , and was wont Upon the wild more to goe . Nowe , gentle Gawaine , chuse , quoth shee , And make thy choice with care ; Whether by night , or else by daye , Shall I ...
... deare lorde , The same whiche thou didst knowe , That was soe lothlye , and was wont Upon the wild more to goe . Nowe , gentle Gawaine , chuse , quoth shee , And make thy choice with care ; Whether by night , or else by daye , Shall I ...
69 ÆäÀÌÁö
... deare , And as you prize your life , this daye O meet not with your foe in fighte ; Putt off the battayle , if yee maye . For sir Launcelot is nowe in Fraunce , And with him many an hardye knighte : Who will within this moneth be backe ...
... deare , And as you prize your life , this daye O meet not with your foe in fighte ; Putt off the battayle , if yee maye . For sir Launcelot is nowe in Fraunce , And with him many an hardye knighte : Who will within this moneth be backe ...
90 ÆäÀÌÁö
... deare mastèr As he stood at his garden pale : Sayes , Ever alacke , my litle foot - page , 35 What causes thee to wail ? Hath any one done to thee wronge Any of thy fellowes here ? Or is any of thy good friends dead , That thou shedst ...
... deare mastèr As he stood at his garden pale : Sayes , Ever alacke , my litle foot - page , 35 What causes thee to wail ? Hath any one done to thee wronge Any of thy fellowes here ? Or is any of thy good friends dead , That thou shedst ...
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ancient awaye ballad Barbara Allen Bevis black-letter bower brest bride bright castle Childe Waters Chivalry clubb Cotton Library dame daughter daye deare death distichs doth dragon Editor's folio Ellen eyes fair Annet Fairies father fell foot-page France French gentle George Gill Morice gold grone Guenever gyant hand hart hast hath head heart Honi soit intitled King Arthur kisse knight lady ladye land Library litle little Musgrave lord Barnard lord Thomas maid mantle manye Margret merry miller Mordred never noble old Romance Pepys Collection poem Poetry praye prince printed copy queene quoth quoth hee sayd sayes shee shew shold sir Gawaine Sir Kay Sir Lybius song sonne sore stanzas steede story sweet William sword tale teares tell thee thou true love unkle unto Whan wife WITCH wold zour
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254 ÆäÀÌÁö - When in one night, ere glimpse of morn, His shadowy flail hath threshed the corn That ten day-labourers could not end ; Then lies him down the lubber fiend, And, stretched out all the chimney's length, Basks at the fire his hairy strength, And crop-full out of doors he flings, Ere the first cock his matin rings.
219 ÆäÀÌÁö - Still to be neat, still to be drest, As you were going to a feast; Still to be powdered, still perfumed: Lady, it is to be presumed, Though art's hid causes are not found, All is not sweet, all is not sound. Give me a look, give me a face, That makes simplicity a grace; Robes loosely flowing, hair as free; Such sweet neglect more taketh me Than all th...
126 ÆäÀÌÁö - At cards for kisses — Cupid paid ; He stakes his quiver, bow and arrows, His mother's doves, and team of sparrows ; Loses them too ; then down he throws The coral of his lip, the rose Growing on's cheek (but none knows how) ; With these, the crystal of his brow, And then the dimple of his chin : All these did my Campaspe win. At last he set her both his eyes, She won, and Cupid blind did rise. O Love ! has she done this to thee ? What shall, alas ! become of me...
393 ÆäÀÌÁö - So shall the fairest face appear When youth and years are flown; Such is the robe that kings must wear When death has reft their crown.
302 ÆäÀÌÁö - HE that loves a rosy Cheek, Or a coral Lip admires ; Or from star-like Eyes doth seek Fuel to maintain his fires : As old Time makes these decay, So his flames must waste away ! But a smooth and steadfast Mind, Gentle Thoughts, and calm Desires, Hearts with equal love combined, Kindle never-dying fires ! Where these are not ; I despise Lovely Cheeks ! or Lips ! or Eyes...
337 ÆäÀÌÁö - Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind, To war and arms I fly. True, a new mistress now I chase, The first foe in the field; And with a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield. Yet this inconstancy is such As you too shall adore; I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honour more.
243 ÆäÀÌÁö - Think what with them they would do That without them dare to woo ; And unless that mind I see, What care I how great she be ? Great, or good, or kind, or fair, I will ne'er the more despair: If she love me, this believe, I will die ere she shall grieve : If she slight me when I woo, I can scorn and let her go ; For if she be not for me, What care I for whom she be ? George Wither.
265 ÆäÀÌÁö - Mary's days On many a grassy plain. But since of late Elizabeth, And, later, James came in, They never danced on any heath, As when the time hath bin.
126 ÆäÀÌÁö - ... paid; He stakes his quiver, bow and arrows, His mother's doves, and team of sparrows; Loses them too; then down he throws The coral of his lip, the rose Growing on's cheek (but none knows how), With these, the crystal of his brow, And then the dimple of his chin; All these did my Campaspe win. At last he set her both his eyes, She won, and Cupid blind did rise. O Love! has she done this to thee? What shall, alas! become of me? THE SONGS OF BIRDS What bird so sings, yet so does wail? O 'tis the...