Reliques of Ancient English Poetry: Consisting of Old Heroic Ballads, Songs, and Other Pieces of Our Earlier Poets, (chiefly of the Lyric King) Together with Some Few of Later Date ...
J. Dodsley, 1765 - Ballads, English
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ancient awaye babes ballad Barbara Allen bright Childe Waters Chivalry copy Cotton Library daughter daye dead deare death doth dragon Editor's elfe everye eyes faid faire fame father fave fayd fayes feemed fell feven flaine fleepe fome foone foule fuch fure fweet fword George GLASGERION grief grone Guenever gyant hand hath head heart horfe houfe intitled ivas joye king Arthur knight lady ladye lord Barnard maid mantle Marion merry mistrefs Mordred never noble Pepys pleafure poem praye prince queene quoth hee quoth our king quoth Richard quoth the miller rode rofe Romance shalt shee shold sight sir Gawaine Sir Kay sirst song steed teares tell thee thefe thofe thou hast thro true unkle unto waly Whan Whofe wife Witch wood zour
Page 247 - thy true love calls, Come from her midnight grave; Now let thy pity hear the maid Thy love refused to save. 'This is the dumb and dreary hour, When injured ghosts complain; When yawning graves give up their dead To haunt the faithless swain.
Page 247 - William's feet. Her face was like an April morn Clad in a wintry cloud; And clay-cold was her lily hand, That held her sable shroud. So shall the fairest face appear When youth and years are flown; Such is the robe that kings must wear When death has reft their crown.
Page 126 - I leant my back unto an aik, I thought it was a trusty tree; But first it bow'd, and syne it brak, Sae my true Love did lichtly 1 me. O waly waly, but love be bonny A little time while it is new; But when 'tis auld, it waxeth cauld And fades awa
Page 18 - On magicke grounde his castle stands, And fenc'd with many a charme. To bowe to him I was fulle faine, And yielde mee to his hand : And, but for a lothly ladye, there I sholde have lost my land.
Page 248 - Why did you promise love to me. and not that promise keep ? Why did you swear my eyes were bright, yet leave those eyes to weep? How could you say my face was fair, and yet that face forsake ? How could you win my virgin heart, yet leave that heart to break?
Page 248 - Why did you say, my lip was sweet, And made the scarlet pale? And why did I, young witless maid! Believe the flattering tale? That face, alas! no more is fair; Those lips no longer red : Dark are my eyes, now clos'd in death, And every charm is fled.
Page 201 - In time brought forth to light. A gentleman of good account In Norfolk dwelt of late, Who did in honour far surmount Most men of his estate.
Page 181 - Their dances were procession. But now, alas ! they all are dead, Or gone beyond the seas, Or farther for religion fled, Or else they take their ease.