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Adam Bell ancient Anglo-Saxon appears archar arrowes awaye ballad Bards Cange castle Cloudefle copy daughter daye dear doth Earl Douglas Earl Percy Editor Edom English faid fair fair lady fame fast fayd fayre flaine flayne Garland Gilderoy greene willow hand harpe hart haste hath heart Hist honour intitled king King Leir knight kyng Estmere lady ladye land lise lord Minstrels mither myght never noble Norman conquest Northumberland Patrick Spence Percy Perse play poems poets printed prosession quoth reader reign Robin Hood Saxon sayd Sayes Scotland Scots Scottish Shakespeare shalt shee shew Sing sirst song sonnes stanzas syr Cauline Theare thee ther theyr thou thre unto uppon whan willow wold word writer wyll Wyllyam wyse yemen yere youth zour
Page 238 - Crabbed age and youth Cannot live together ; Youth is full of pleasance, Age is full of care: Youth like summer morn, Age like winter weather ; Youth like summer brave, Age like winter bare. Youth is full of sport, Age's breath is short, Youth is nimble, age is lame : Youth is hot and bold, Age is weak and cold ; Youth is wild, and age is tame.
Page 318 - Who God doth late and early pray, More of his grace than gifts to lend, And entertains the harmless day, With a religious book or friend. This man is freed from servile bands Of hope to rise, or fear to fall ; Lord of himself, though not of lands, And having nothing, yet hath all.
Page 219 - If all the world and love were young, And truth in every shepherd's tongue, These pretty pleasures might me move To live with thee and be thy love. But time drives flocks from field to fold, When rivers rage and rocks grow cold, And Philomel becometh dumb, The rest complains of cares to come.
Page 269 - Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill: But their strong nerves at last must yield; They tame but one another still: Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath, When they, pale captives, creep to death. The garlands wither on your brow, Then boast no more your mighty deeds; Upon Death's purple altar now See, where the victor-victim bleeds: Your heads must come To the cold tomb; Only the actions of the just Smell sweet, and blossom...
Page 190 - Itt hath been alwayes true to the weare, But now it is not worth a groat; I have had it four and forty...
Page 78 - Late late yestreen I saw the new moone, Wi the auld moone in hir arme, And I feir, I feir, my deir master, That we will cum to harme.
Page lxxx - Certainly I must confess my own barbarousness; I never heard the old song of Percy and Douglas that I found not my heart moved more than with a trumpet; and yet it is sung but by some blind crowder, with no rougher voice than rude style...
Page 220 - Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies, Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten ; In folly ripe, in reason rotten. Thy belt of straw and ivy- buds, Thy coral clasps and amber studs, All these in me no means can move, To come to thee and be thy love.