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, Volume 2 (Google eBook)

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Thomas Percy
J.E. Moore, 1823 - Ballads, English
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Page 358 - the flood. Know no such libertie. Stone walls doe not a prison make, 25 Nor iron barres a cage, Mindes, innocent, and quiet, take That for an hermitage : If I have freedom in my love, And in my soule am free,
Page 384 - a fever about the 29th year of his age. See above, Song IX. of this Book. WHY so pale and wan, fond lover? Prethee, why so pale ? Will, when looking well can't move her, Looking ill prevail ? Prethee why so pale ? 5 Why so dull and
Page 337 - pitie; Tell, vertue least preferreth : 70 And, if they doe reply, Spare not to give the lye. So, when thou hast, as I Commanded thee, done blabbing, Although to give the lye 75 Deserves no less than stabbing, Yet stab at thee who will, No stab the
Page 85 - the reader of taste will have a pleasure in comparing them with the original. ' And' still I tried each fickle art, Importunate and vain ; And while his passion touched my heart, I triumph'd in his pain. Till quite dejected with my scorn, He left me to my pride; And sought a solitude forlorn, In secret, where he
Page 86 - But mine the sorrow, mine the fault, And well my life shall pay; I'll seek the solitude he sought, And stretch me where he lay. And there forlorn despairing hid, I'll lay me down and die : Twas so for me
Page 411 - sheets my body cover, Unbar, ye bridal maids, the door, Let in the expected husband lover. 100 But who the expected husband husband is ? His hands, methinks, are bath'd in slaughter: Ah me ! what ghastly spectre's yon Comes in his pale shroud, bleeding after ? Pale as he is, here lay him, lay him down, 105
Page 384 - 10 Quit, quit for shame ; this will not move, This cannot take her; If of herself she will not love, Nothing can make her. XVII. OLD TOM OF BEDLAM. MAD SONG THE FIRST.
Page 343 - And at the third question thou must not shrink, But tell me here truly what I do think. O, these are hard questions for my shallow witt, Nor I cannot answer your grace as yet: But if you will give me but three weekes space, 35
Page 407 - gat her where I dare na weil be seen, Puing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow. Weep not, weep not, my bonny bonny bride, Weep not, weep not, my winsome marrow; 10 Nor let thy heart lament to leive Puing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow. B. Why docs she weep, thy bonny bonny bride? Why does

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