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anon ayen ayenst Balade blisse Boeth Boethius Bookseller Certes Chaucer Christ coude Court of Love dede desyre deth disese doth drede dyvers eche erthe fayn foule goddes goodnesse grace greet grene gret grete hast hath hede herte heven in-to Jack Upland joye kepe king Kingis Quair kynde lady leude leve litel loke London lord Lydgate lyfe maner mater maye mede mercy moche myne nedes pees plesaunce Plowman poem quod rede reson rest Richard Ros richesse rime sayd saye sayn shal shewe shulde shyning sith sithen sorowe sothe speke stanzas suffre supply thee ther thilke thing thinketh thorow thou thyn thyne thynge Thynne trewe trewly Trin Troil trouthe tyme unto vertue whan Wherfore whyl whyle wight wilne withouten wolde word wyse yvel
Page xliii - Imprynted at London in Flete Strete at the Sygne of the Sonne by Wynkyn de Worde".
Page lxi - Have linked that amorous power to thy soft lay, Now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hate Foretell my hopeless doom, in some grove nigh ; As thou from year to year hast sung too late For my relief, yet hadst no reason why. Whether the Muse or Love called thee his mate, Both them I serve, and of their train am I.
Page 332 - His face [fronsit], his lyre was lyke the Leid, His teith chatterit, and cheverit with the Chin, His Ene drowpit, how sonkin in his heid, Out of his Nois the Meldrop fast can rin, With lippis bla and cheikis leine and thin; The Iceschoklis that fra his hair doun hang 160 Was wonder greit, and as ane speir als lang.
Page 333 - Without comfort of quhome, of force to nocht Must all ga die that in this warld is wrocht. As king royall he raid upon his chair, The quhilk Phaeton gydit...
Page 375 - if that I durst enquere Of you, I would faine of that company Wite what they be that past by this arbere...
Page 342 - O Ladyis fair of Troy and Grece, attend My miserie, quhilk nane may comprehend. My frivoll Fortoun, my Infelicitie: My greit mischeif quhilk na man can amend. Be war in tyme, approchis neir the end, And in your mynd ane mirrour mak of me: As I am now, peradventure that ye For all your micht may cum to that same end, Or ellis war, gif ony war may be.
Page 516 - IF all the world were paper, And all the sea were ink, And all the trees were bread and cheese, What should we do for drink?
Page 343 - Na wonder was, suppois in mynd that he Tuik hir figure sa sone, and lo, now quhy: The idole of ane thing in cace may be Sa deip imprentit in the fantasy That it deludis the wittis outwardly, And sa appeiris in forme and lyke estait Within the mynd as it was figurait.
Page 332 - Ane busteous bow within his hand he boir, Under his girdill ane flasche of felloun flanis, Fedderit with Ice, and heidit with hailstanis.