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agayne Anno Domini ballad Bryde Cock Lorells colophon Copland daye dayly dere desyre dooth doth eche edition euen euery father fayne fayre folke fooles fynde gaue giue grete gyue harte hath haue herte hous husband John kepe King knaue kyng London Lord loue lyfe lyke lytell lyue maner mayster mery moche moost Morels mother mynde neuer nothyng nought Old eds ouer Pater noster peny Percy Society playne poem poore Porter pray praye printed proude pryde quoth Robert Copland ryght saue sayd saye saynt sayth Schole shame shew sholde Sir Pelleas sore sorowe spyttell stryfe Taffie tell tf)e thee Therfore theyr thing thinke thou shalte thynge thynke tract trowe Tyll tyme unto vnto vpon waye whan whyle wife withouten wolde woman women word wyfe wyll Wynkyn de Worde wyth wyues yong
Page 130 - There be three things which are too wonderful for me, yea, four which I know not: The way of an eagle in the air; the way of a serpent upon a rock; the way of a ship in the midst of the sea; and the way of a man with a maid.
Page 145 - Hark, hark, The dogs do bark, The beggars are coming to town, Some in rags, And some in jags, And some in velvet gown.
Page 276 - TENANT TO THE KING, BEING WRONGED BY A LAWYER (HIS NEIGHBOUR), WENT TO THE KING HIMSELF TO MAKE KNOWNE HIS GRIEVANCES. FULL OF SIMPLE MIRTH AND MERRY PLAINE JESTS.
Page 128 - A continual dropping in a very rainy day and a contentious woman are alike.
Page 123 - But he said unto her, Thou speakest as one of the foolish women speaketh. What? shall we receive good at the hand of God, and shall we not receive evil? In all this did not Job sin with his lips.
Page 122 - And it came to pass on the seventh day, that they said unto Samson's wife, entice thy husband that he may declare unto us the riddle, lest we burn thee and thy father's house with fire. Have ye called us to take that we have ? Is it not so ? And Samson's wife wept before him, and said, Thou dost but hate me, and lovest me not.
Page 130 - The grave; and the barren womb; the earth that is not filled with water ; and the fire that saith not, It is enough.
Page 292 - King call'd up his Treasurer, and bad him fetch him twenty pound. If ever thy errant lye here away, He beare thy charges up and downe. When the poore man saw the gold tendred, for to receive it he was willing. If I had thought the King had so mickle gold, beshrew my heart, Ide a kept my shilling.
Page 200 - Which cause me often for to mourne, Or yet to know what for to say. I am worse then mad or wood, And yet I am loth with her to begin : I feare me I shall neuer make her good, Except I do wrap her in black Morels skin, That can no more drawe at plough ne carte. It shall be to late to call for her kinne, When she beginneth once for to smarte, For little ease thereby she shall winne.