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a-nother agayne batayle called Chaucer Christ court Custance death dede doth eche edition euery forto French Friars Gods worde grekes grene gret grete hath haue herte in-to j>at j>ei king knyghtes kyng Arthur Latin lord loue lyke lyue maner means Mery Merygreeke moche Mordred myght mynde neuer nocht Nut-brown Maid Old English Old text ouer Percy Folio Piers the Plowman poem poet Priam printed quod Royster sall saue sawe sayd saye sche scho scripture serue shal shew shold shulde slayne sone sonne Spenser stanza Statius swerde syr Bedwere syr Mordred thai thee ther therfore theyr thing THOMAS ELYOT THOMAS OCCLEVE thou thow thyng translation trewe Tydeus tyll tyme vnder vnto vpon Vulgate Wallace Warton whan Wiat wold word wyll wyse wyst wyth
Page 385 - I got me servants and maidens, and had servants born in my house. Also I had great possessions of great and small cattle, above all that were in Jerusalem before me. I gathered me also silver and gold, and the peculiar treasure of kings ; and of the provinces I gat me men singers and women singers, and the delights of the sons of men, as musical instruments, and that of all sorts ; so I was great and increased more than all that were before me in Jerusalem.
Page 82 - a! my lord Arthur, what shal become of me now ye goo from me. And leue me here allone emonge 80 myn enemyes ?' ' Comfort thy self,' sayd the kyng, ' and doo as wel as thou mayst; for in me is no truste for to truste in. For I wyl in to the vale of auylyon, to hele me of my greuous wounde. And yf thou here neuer more of me, praye for my soule;' but euer the quenes and ladyes wepte and shryched that hit was pyte to here.
Page 350 - Winter is come that blowes the bitter blaste, And after Winter dreerie death does hast. Gather together ye my little flocke, My little flock, that was to me so liefe ; Let me, ah ! lette me in your foldes ye lock, Ere the breme' Winter breede you greater griefe. Winter is come, that blowes the balefull breath, And after Winter commeth timely death.
Page 337 - The sonne of all the world is dimme and darke: The earth now lacks her wonted light, And all we dwell in deadly night: O heavie herse!
Page 350 - So now my yeare drawes to his latter terme, My spring is spent, my sommer burnt up quite ; My harveste hasts to stirre up Winter sterne, And bids him clayme with rigorous rage hys right : So nowe he stormes with many a sturdy stoure ; So now his blustring blast eche coste dooth scoure.
Page 394 - Atthe same time that our poet shews a laudable partiality to his countrymen, he represents the Scots after a manner not unbecoming so bold and brave a people : Earl Douglas on a milk-white steed, Most like a baron bold, Rode foremost of the company, Whose armour shone like gold.
Page 341 - Why wayle we then? why weary we the gods with playnts, As if some evill were to her betight? She raignes a goddesse now emong the saintes, That whilome was the saynt of shepheards light: And is enstalled nowe in heavens hight. 1 see thee, blessed soule, I see, Walke in Elisian fieldes so free.
Page 107 - Tane leif at nature with ane orient blast; And lusty May, that muddir is of flouris, Had maid the birdis to begyn thair houris Amang the tendir odouris reid and quhyt, Quhois armony to heir it wes delyt...
Page 395 - Vicisti, et victum tendere palmas Ausonii videre. jEn. xii. 936. The Latin chiefs have seen me beg my life. DRYDEN. Earl Percy's lamentation over his enemy is generous, beautiful, and passionate : I must only caution the reader not to let the simplicity of the style, which one may well pardon in so old a poet, prejudice him against the greatness of the thought...