Satirical songs and poems on costume: from the 13th to the 19th century, Volume 27

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Printed for the Percy Society by Richards, 1849 - Ballads, English - 267 pages
 

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Page 101 - twixt thee and me, Because thou lov'st the one, and I the other. Dowland to thee is dear, whose heavenly touch Upon the lute doth ravish human sense; Spenser to me, whose deep conceit is such As, passing all conceit, needs no defence. Thou lov'st to hear the sweet melodious sound That Phoebus...
Page 96 - Greensleeves? Alas, my love, ye do me wrong To cast me off discourteously; And I have loved you so long, Delighting in your company.
Page 170 - What creature's this ? with his short hairs, His little band, and huge long ears...
Page 99 - My gayest gelding I thee gave, To ride wherever liked thee ; No lady ever was so brave, And yet thou wouldst not love me.
Page 60 - Hir sark suld be hir body nixt, Of chestetie so quhyt, With schame and dreid togidder mixt, The same suld be perfyt. Hir kirtill suld be of clene Constance, Lasit with lesum lufe, The mailyheis of continuance For nevir to remufe.
Page 80 - Her needle doth So sanctify my cushionets: besides My smock-sleeves have such holy embroideries And are so learned, that I fear in time All my apparel will be quoted by Some pure instructor.
Page 100 - Thou couldst desire no earthly thing But still thou hadst it readily; Thy music still to play and sing, And yet thou wouldst not love me. Greensleeves was all my joy, &c.
Page 235 - A pair of smart pumps made up of grain'd leather ; So thin he can't venture to tread on a feather ; His buckles like diamonds must glitter and shine, Should they cost fifty pounds they wou'd not be too fine ; A repeater by Graham, which the hours reveals, Almost over-balanc'd with knick-knacks and seals ; A mouchoir with musk his spirits to chear, Though he scents the whole room, that no soul can come near ; A gold-hilted sword with jewels inlaid, So the scabbard's but cane, no matter for blade ;...
Page 259 - Of th' adorable queen Of the beautiful blest Otaheite. Yet miss at the rooms Must beware of her plumes, For, if Vulcan her feather embraces, Like poor Lady Laycock, She'll burn like a hay-cock, And roast all the loves and the graces.
Page 159 - A giddy gallant that beyond the seas Sought fashions out, his idle pate to please, In travelling did meet upon the way A fellow that was suited richly gay; No lesse than crimson velvet did him grace, All garded and re-garded with gold lace. His hat was feather'd like a lady's fan, Which made the gallant think him some great man, And vayl'd unto him with a meek salute, In reverence of his gilded velvet sute. 'Sir...

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