Reliques of ancient English poetry: consisting of old heroic ballads, songs, & other pieces of our earlier poets, together with some few of later date, & a copious glossary

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H.G. Bohn, 1851 - 307 pages
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Page 82 - Who God doth late and early pray, More of his grace than gifts to lend, And entertains the harmless day, With a religious book or friend. This man is freed from servile bands Of hope to rise, or fear to fall ; Lord of himself, though not of lands, And having nothing, yet hath all.
Page 52 - My mother had a maid call'd Barbara : She was in love ; and he she lov'd prov'd mad, And did forsake her : she had a song of " willow ;" An old thing 'twas, but it express'd her fortune, And she died singing it...
Page 264 - 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.
Page 1 - I never heard the old song of Percy and Douglas that I found not my heart moved more than with a trumpet...
Page 58 - The shepherd swains shall dance and sing For thy delight each May morning: If these delights thy mind may move, Then live with me and be my love.
Page 169 - Collection, compared with another printed among some miscellaneous "poems and songs" in a book intitled, " Le Prince d'Amour," 1660, Svo. AN old song made by an aged old pate, Of an old worshipful gentleman, who had a greate estate, That kept a brave old house at a bountiful rate, And an old porter to relieve the poor at his gate ; Like an old courtier of the queen's, And the queen's old courtier.
Page 177 - Why so pale and wan, fond lover? Prithee, why so pale? Will, when looking well can't move her. Looking ill prevail? Prithee, why so pale?
Page 243 - 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.
Page 169 - You meaner beauties of the night, That poorly satisfy our eyes More by your number than your light ; You common people of the skies ; What are you when the moon shall rise?
Page 65 - 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.

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