The Old Wives' Tale

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R.G. Badger, 1916 - 75 pages
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Page 74 - Good morning to this primrose too ; Good morrow to each maid ; That will with flowers the tomb bestrew Wherein my Love is laid. Ah ! woe is me, woe, woe is me, Alack and well-a-day ! For pity, sir, find out that bee, Which bore my Love away.
Page 55 - For fear thou make the golden beard to weep. Fair maid, white and red, Comb me smooth, and stroke my head, And every hair a sheaf shall be, And every sheaf a golden tree.
Page 55 - GENTLY dip, but not too deep, For fear you make the golden beard to weep. Fair maiden, white and red, Comb me smooth, and stroke my head, And thou shalt have some cockell-bread.
Page 28 - Be not afraid of every stranger ; Start not aside at every danger ; Things that seem are not the same ; Blow a blast at every flame ; For when one flame of fire goes out, Then come * your wishes well about : If any ask who told you this good, Say, the white bear of England's wood.
Page 38 - Sac. Ah, Delia, fairer art thou than the running water, yet harder far than steel or adamant! Del. Will it please you to sit down, sir? Sac. Ay, Delia, sit and ask me what thou wilt, thou shalt have it brought into thy lap.
Page 31 - As curst as a wasp, and as frowarcl as a child new-taken from the mother's teat ; she is' to my age, as smoke to the eyes, or as vinegar to the teeth. EREST. Holily praised, neighbour. As much for the next.
Page 29 - Did turn me straight unto an ugly bear ; And when the sun doth settle in the west, Then I begin to don my ugly hide : And all the day I sit, as now you see, And speak in riddles, all inspir'd with rage, Seeming an old and miserable man, And yet I am in April of my age.
Page 75 - I'll seek him there ; I know ere this The cold, cold earth doth shake him ; But I will go or send a kiss By you, sir, to awake him. Pray, hurt him not though he be dead, He knows well who do love him, And who with green turfs rear his head, And who do rudely move him. He's soft and tender (pray take heed) ; With bands of cowslips bind him. And bring him home ; but 'tis decreed That I shall never find him.
Page 40 - BRO. Sister, where art thou? Delia, ; come again ! He calls, that of thy absence doth complain. Call out, Calypha, that she may hear, And cry aloud, for Delia is near. ECHO. Near.
Page 21 - Fro. And, in faith, sir, unless your hospitality do relieve us, we are like to wander, with a sorrowful heigh-ho, among the owlets and hobgoblins of the forest.

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