The Works of Thomas Chatterton ...: Poems attributed to Rowley

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T.N. Longman and O. Rees, 1803
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Page 367 - Faste reyneynge oer the plaine a prieste was seen ; Ne dighte full proude, ne buttoned up in golde ; His cope and jape were graie, and eke were clene ; A Limitoure he was of order scene ; And from the pathwaie side then turned hee, Where the pore aimer laie binethe the holmen tree. XII. An almes, sir priest ! the droppynge pilgrim sayde, For sweete Seyncte Marie and your order sake.
Page 91 - My nobile leige!" goode CANYNGE sayde, "Leave justice to our Godde, And laye the yronne rule asyde; Be thyne the olyve rodde." "Was Godde to serche our hertes and reines, The best were synners grete; CHRIST'S vycarr only knowes ne synne, Ynne alle thys mortall state.
Page 101 - Ynne diffraunt partes a godlie psaume Moste sweetlie theye dydd chaunt; Behynde theyre backes syx mynstrelles came, Who tun'd the strunge bataunt.
Page 104 - Whylst thou, perhapps, for som few yeares, Shalt rule thys fickle lande, To lett them knowe howe wyde the rule Twixt kynge and tyrant hande: "Thye pow'r unjust, thou traytour slave! Shall falle onne thye owne hedde" — Fromm out of hearyng of the kynge Departed thenne the sledde.
Page 361 - The sun was glemeing in the midde of daie, Deadde still the aire, and eke the welken blue, When from the sea arist...
Page 90 - And felle down onne hys knee; "I'm come," quod hee, "unto your grace "To move your clemencye.
Page 93 - Thenne drie the tears thatt out thyne eye From godlie fountaines sprynge; Dethe I despise, and alle the power Of EDWARDE, traytor kynge.
Page 219 - Whann the fayre apple, rudde as even skie, Do bende the tree unto the fructyle grounde; When joicie peres, and berries of blacke die, Doe daunce yn ayre, and call the eyne arpunde; Thann, bee the even foule or even fayre, Meethynckes mie hartys joie ys steynced wyth somme care.
Page 365 - An almes, sir prieste!' the droppynge pilgrim saide; 'O let me waite within your covente dore, Till the sunne sheneth hie above our heade, And the loude tempeste of the aire is oer.
Page 103 - O thou, thatt savest manne fromme synne, Washe mye soule clean thys daie ! ' Art the grete mynsterr wyndowe sat The kynge ynne myckle state, To see Charles Bawdin goe alonge To hys most welcom fate. Soone as the sledde drewe nyghe enowe, Thatt Edwarde hee myghte heare, The brave Syr Charles hee dydd stande uppe, And thus hys wordes declare: ' Thou seest me, Edwarde ! traytour vile ! Expos'd to infamie; Butt bee assur'd, disloyall manne!

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