A History of English Prosody from the Twelfth Century to the Present Day, Volume 1

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Macmillan and Company, limited, 1906 - English language - 2 pages
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Page 331 - Greensleeves was all my joy, Greensleeves was my delight; Greensleeves was my heart of gold, And who but Lady Greensleeves?
Page 363 - Open the temple gates unto my Love, Open them wide that she may enter in...
Page 157 - If no love is, O God, what fele I so? And if love is, what thing and which is he?
Page 363 - Almighty's view. Of her, ye virgins,. learn obedience, When so ye come into those holy places, To humble your proud faces. Bring her up to th...
Page 131 - Anoint and cheer our soiled face With the abundance of Thy grace ; Keep far our foes ; give peace at home ; Where Thou art guide, no ill can come...
Page 309 - Forget not yet when first began The weary life ye know, since whan The suit, the service none tell can ; Forget not yet ! Forget not yet the great assays, The cruel wrong, the scornful ways, The painful patience in...
Page 260 - I sing of a maiden That is makeless, King of all Kings To her son she ches. He came all so still Where his mother was, As dew in April That falleth on the grass. He came all so still To his mother's bower, As dew in April That falleth on the flower.
Page 225 - How my goods were defrauded me by falshood. I gat not a mum of his mouth for my meed, And for lack of mony I myght not spede. Unto the Rolls I gat me from thence, Before the Clarkes of the Chauncerye, Where many I found earnyng of pence, But none at all once regarded mee. I gave them my playnt uppon my knee; They lyked it well, when they had it reade: But lackyng money I could not be sped.
Page 158 - And whan that he was slayn in this manere, His lighte goost ful blisfully is went Up to the holughnesse of the eighthe spere, In convers letyng everich element; And ther he saugh with ful avysement The erratik sterres, herkenyng armonye With sownes ful of hevenyssh melodie.
Page 314 - The which unwares did wound my woeful breast ; But on her face mine eyes might never rest. Yet since she knew I did her love and serve, Her golden tresses clad alway with black, Her smiling looks that hid thus evermore, And that restrains which I desire so sore.

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