Old England: Her Story Mirrored in Her Scenes

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J.Pott, 1908 - 347 Seiten
 

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Seite 107 - This he said, not that he cared for the poor; but because he was a thief, and had the bag, and bare what was put therein.
Seite 287 - They say he is already in the forest of Arden, and a many merry men with him ; and there they live like the old Robin Hood of England. They say many young gentlemen flock to him every day, and fleet the time carelessly, as they did in the golden world.
Seite 288 - Under the greenwood tree, Who loves to lie with me, And tune his merry note Unto the sweet bird's throat, Come hither, come hither, come hither; Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather.
Seite 283 - By this, poor Wat, far off upon a hill, Stands on his hinder legs with listening ear, To hearken if his foes pursue him still; Anon their loud alarums he doth hear ; And now his grief may be compared well To one sore sick that hears the passing bell.
Seite 318 - Ther nas no dore that he nolde heve of harre, 550 Or breke it, at a renning, with his heed. His berd as any sowe or fox was reed, And ther-to brood, as though it were a spade. Up-on the cop...
Seite 284 - And though this, probably the first essay of his poetry be lost, yet it is said to have been so very bitter that it redoubled the prosecution against him to that degree, that he was...
Seite 284 - He had by a misfortune common enough to young fellows, fallen into ill company, and amongst them, some that made a frequent practice of deer-stealing engaged him more than once in robbing a park that belonged to Sir Thomas Lucy, of Charlecote, near Stratford. For this...
Seite 312 - Harvest-Home; their last load of Corn they Crown with Flowers, having besides an Image richly dressed, by which, perhaps, they would signify Ceres, this they keep moving about, while Men and Women, Men and Maid Servants, riding through the Streets in the Cart, shout as loud as they can, till they arrive at the Barn.
Seite 37 - Years afterwards, when the Norman yoke pressed heavily upon the English, and the battle of Hastings had become a tale of sorrow, which old men narrated by the light of the embers, until warned to silence by the sullen tolling of the curfew, there was a decrepit anchorite, who inhabited a cell near the Abbey of St.
Seite 337 - This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise, This fortress built by Nature for herself Against infection and the hand of war, This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands, This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England...

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