Ancient Songs: From the Time of King Henry the Third, to the Revolution ...

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Joseph Ritson
J. Johnson, 1790 - Ballads, English - 332 pages
 

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Page lxiv - When that I was and a little tiny boy, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain; A foolish thing was but a toy, For the rain it raineth every day.
Page 177 - It was a lover and his lass, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, That o'er the green corn-field did pass In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding : Sweet lovers love the spring.
Page lxvii - Go from my window, love, go ; Go from my window, my dear ! The wind and the rain Will drive you back again ; You cannot be lodged here.
Page 179 - Hark ! hark ! the lark at heaven's gate sings, And Phoebus 'gins arise, His steeds to water at those springs On chaliced flowers that lies ; And winking Mary-buds begin to ope their golden eyes ; With everything that pretty is — My lady sweet, arise : Arise, arise.
Page 222 - Her lips were red, and one was thin, Compar'd to that was next her chin (Some bee had stung it newly) ; But, Dick, her eyes so guard her face; I durst no more upon them gaze Than on the sun in July.
Page 223 - Marched boldly up, like our trained band, Presented, and away. When all the meat was on the table, What man of knife or teeth was able To stay to be entreated ? And this the very reason was, Before the parson could say grace The company was seated.
Page lxv - He is dead and gone, lady, He is dead and gone, At his head a grass-green turf, At his heels a stone.
Page 221 - Her finger was so small, the ring Would not stay on, which they did bring, It was too wide a peck : And to say truth (for out it must) It looked like the great collar (just) About our young colt's neck.
Page lvi - Brome, brome on hill, The gentle brome on hill, hill: Brome, brome on Hive hill, The gentle brome on Hive hill, The brome standes on Hive hill a.
Page xix - Percy out of Northumberland, And a vow to God made he, That he would hunt in the mountains Of Cheviot, within days three, In the maugre of doughty Douglas, And all that ever with him be. The fattest harts in all Cheviot He said he would kill, and carry them away ; " By my faith," said the doughty Douglas again, " I will let that hunting if that I may.

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