Reliques of ancient English poetry: consisting of old heroic ballads, songs, and other pieces of our earlier poets, (chiefly of the lyric kind.) Together with some few of later date, Volume 1
J. Dodsley, 1765 - Music
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Reliques of Ancient English Poetry: Consisting of Old Heroic Ballads, Songs ...
No preview available - 1999
Adam Bell agayne ancient archar arrowes aster awaye ballad besore bold Carleile Christ Cloudefle Cophetua copy daughter daye dear doth Earl Douglas Earl Percy Editor Edom English fair lady fame fast fayd fayre flaine flayne Garland gentle Gilderoy given srom greene willow hand hart haste hath heart himsels intitled ivas ivhich jhould king King Leir knight kyng Estmere lady ladye lise Lord Percy Minstrels mither myght never noble Northumberland Patrick Spence Perse play poems poets quoth reader reign Robin Hood sayd saye Scotland Scots Scottish sear shal shee Sing sirst sollowing song sonnes sorm srom stanzas syr Cauline Theare thee ther theresore theyr thou shalt thre unto uppon ween whan willow wold wyll Wyllyam wyse yemen yonder youth zour
Page xxviii - I never heard the old song of Percy and Douglas that I found not my heart moved more than with a trumpet...
Page 220 - Crabbed age and youth Cannot live together ; Youth is full of pleasance, Age is full of care: Youth like summer morn, Age like winter weather ; Youth like summer brave, Age like winter bare. Youth is full of sport, Age's breath is short, Youth is nimble, age is lame : Youth is hot and bold, Age is weak and cold ; Youth is wild, and age is tame.
Page 228 - His cheek was redder than the rose ; The comeliest youth was he ; But he is dead and laid in his grave ; Alas, and woe is me ! " " Sigh no more, lady, sigh no more ; Men were deceivers ever ; One foot on sea and one on land, To one thing constant never...
Page 54 - OI hae killed my reid-roan steid, Mither, mither, OI hae killed my reid-roan steid, That erst was sae fair and frie O.
Page 247 - Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill: But their strong nerves at last must yield; They tame but one another still: Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath, When they, pale captives, creep to death. The garlands wither on your brow, Then boast no more your mighty deeds; Upon Death's purple altar now See, where the victor-victim bleeds: Your heads must come To the cold tomb; Only the actions of the just Smell sweet, and blossom...
Page 202 - Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies, Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten ; In folly ripe, in reason rotten. Thy belt of straw and ivy- buds, Thy coral clasps and amber studs, All these in me no means can move, To come to thee and be thy love.
Page 269 - Content I live, this is my stay, I seek no more than may suffice; I press to bear no haughty sway; Look, what I lack my mind supplies. Lo! thus I triumph like a king, Content with that my mind doth bring.
Page 101 - Nae sooner said the grace, Till Edom o' Gordon and his men, Were light about the place. The lady ran up to hir towir head, Sa fast as she could hie, To see if by her fair speeches She could wi