The Poems of Robert Henryson, Volume 3

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Society, 1908 - Scotland
 

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Page 2 - I mend the fyre and beikit me about, Than tuik ane drink my spreitis to comfort, And armit me weill fra the cauld thairout: To cut the winter nicht and mak it schort, I tuik ane Quair, and left all uther sport, Writtin be worthie Chaucer glorious, Of fair Creisseid, and worthie Troylus.
Page 19 - Ane spark of lufe than till his hart culd spring And kendlit all his bodie in ane fyre. With hait Fewir ane sweit and trimbling Him tuik, quhill he was reddie to expyre. To beir his Scheild, his Breist began to tyre Within ane quhyle he changit mony hew, And nevertheless not ane ane uther knew.
Page 6 - Ye causit me alwayis understand and trow The seid of lufe was sawin in my face, And ay grew grene throw your supplie and grace. Bot now allace that seid with froist is slane, And I fra luifferis left and all forlane.
Page 5 - This auld Calchas, efter the Law was tho, Wes keiper of the Tempill as ane Preist, In quhilk Venus and hir Sone Cupido War honourit, and his Chalmer was thame neist, To quhilk Cresseid with baill aneuch in breist no Usit to pas, hir prayeris for to say.
Page 9 - Sabill black ; quhyte hair as gold kemmit and sched abak ; bot in hir face semit greit variance, quhyles perfyte treuth, and quhyles Inconstance.
Page 10 - Boxis he bair with fine Electuairis, And sugerit Syropis for digestioun, Spycis belangand to the Pothecairis, With mony hailsum sweit Confectioun, Doctour in Phisick cled in ane Skarlot goun, 250 And furrit weill, as sic ane aucht to be, Honest and gude, and not ane word culd le.
Page 13 - Lo quhat it is' (quod sche), 'With fraward langage for to mufe and steir Our craibit Goddis, and sa is sene on me ! My blaspheming now have I bocht full deir. All eirdlie Joy and mirth I set areir. Allace this day, allace this wofull tyde, Quhen I began with my Goddis for to Chyde.
Page 20 - Than swounit scho oft or scho culd refrane, and ever in hir swouning cryit scho thus : 'O fals Cresseid and trew Knicht Troylus.
Page 19 - And in the skirt of Cresseid doun can swak; Than raid away and not ane word he spak, Pensive in hart, quhill he come to the toun, And for greit cair oft syis almaist fell doun.
Page 5 - O fals Cupide, is nane to wyte bot thow, And thy Mother, of lufe the blind Goddes...