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Abbot Adland's ancient archar arrowe awaye ballad bespake blow bold carlish castle cheare Cheviat crookt crowne daye deare deer doth doughté Douglas Earl Earle Percy Fairly fair fast fayre foule gentle Gernutus gold grimme Guenever hall hand harpe hath heart Heire of Linne hondrith horse John o'the Scales King Arthur knee knight Kyng Estmere Kyng of Spayne lady ladye Lancelot du Lake land Little John Lord of Linne Lord Persé lothlye Lough-leven Lukyn marrye minstrel ne'er never noble Norse numbers owar Patrick Spence payd Percy praye prince queene quoth redd Robin Hood rode ryde sayd Sayes Scotland Scots shold Sir Gawaine Sir Kay Sir Valentine slayne song soon sore spear steed stryfe sword syde tell thee thou art Thou shalt trusty turnament unkle unto mee wight wilt wold woods wyfe youth
Page 75 - For twelve month and a day, To lend to him an hundred crownes : And he for it would pay Whatsoever he would demand of him. And pledges he should have. ' No,' (quoth the Jew with flearing lookes) ' Sir, aske what you will have.
Page 147 - O these are hard questions for my shallow wit, Nor I cannot answer your grace as yet : But if you will give me but three weeks' space, I'll do my endeavour to answer your grace." " Now three weeks' space to thee will I give, And that is the longest time thou hast to live ; For if thou dost not answer my questions three, Thy lands and thy livings are forfeit to me.
Page 194 - The spear against the gyant glanc'd, And caus'd the blood to burst. Mad and outrageous with the pain, He whirl'd his mace of steel : The very wind of such a blow $$ Had made the champion reel. It haply mist ; and now the knight His glittering sword display'd, And riding round with whirlwind speed Oft made him feel the blade.
Page 147 - O, these are hard questions for my shallow witt, Nor I cannot answer your grace as yet : But if you will give me but three weekes space, He do my endeavour to answer your grace. Now three weeks...
Page 64 - In hope some comfort for to winne; But bare and lothly were the walles ; " Here's sorry cheare," quo' the heire of Linne* The little windowe, dim and darke, Was hung with ivy, brere, and yewe...
Page 83 - Content I live, this is my stay; I seek no more than may suffice; I press to bear no haughty sway; Look, what I lack my mind supplies. Lo, thus I triumph like a king, Content with that my mind doth bring.
Page 84 - They are but poor, though much they have, And I am rich with little store. They poor, I rich ; they beg, I give ; They lack, I lend : they pine, I live.
Page 182 - gins to decke the fields With colours fresh and fine, Then holy clerkes their mattins sing To good Saint Valentine ! The king of France that morning fair He would a hunting ride : To Artois forest prancing forth In all his princelye pride. To grace his sports a courtly train Of gallant peers attend ; And with their loud and cheerful cryes The hills and valleys rend. Through the deep forest swift they pass, Through woods and thickets wild...
Page 148 - Now cheare up, sire abbot ; did you never hear yet, That a fool he may learn a wise man witt ? Lend me horse, and serving men, and your apparel, And I'll ride to London to answer your quarrel.