The Pictorial Book of Ancient Ballad Poetry of Great Britain: Historical, Traditional and Romantic: to which are Added, a Selection of Modern Imitations and Some TranslationsJoseph S. Moore H. Washbourne & Company, 1853 - 871 стор. |
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Сторінка 19
... thou not my maister , seid litulle Johne , Thou shuldis by hit ful sore , Get the a man where thou wilt Robyn , For thou getes me no more , Then Robyn goes to Notyngham Hymselfe mornynge allone , And litulle Johne to mery Scherewode ...
... thou not my maister , seid litulle Johne , Thou shuldis by hit ful sore , Get the a man where thou wilt Robyn , For thou getes me no more , Then Robyn goes to Notyngham Hymselfe mornynge allone , And litulle Johne to mery Scherewode ...
Сторінка 40
... thou have no more , ' sayd Robyn , ' I wyll not one peny ; And yf thou have nede of ony more , More shall I len the . Go now forth , Lytell Johan , The trouthe tell thou me , Yf there be no more but ten shillings , Not one penny that I ...
... thou have no more , ' sayd Robyn , ' I wyll not one peny ; And yf thou have nede of ony more , More shall I len the . Go now forth , Lytell Johan , The trouthe tell thou me , Yf there be no more but ten shillings , Not one penny that I ...
Сторінка 41
... thou were made a knyght of forse , Or elles of yemanry ; Or elles thou hast ben a sory housband , And leved in stroke and stryfe ; An okerer , or elles a lechoure , ' said Robyn , ' With wronge hast thou lede thy lyfe . ' ' I am none of ...
... thou were made a knyght of forse , Or elles of yemanry ; Or elles thou hast ben a sory housband , And leved in stroke and stryfe ; An okerer , or elles a lechoure , ' said Robyn , ' With wronge hast thou lede thy lyfe . ' ' I am none of ...
Сторінка 47
... thou brought my pay ? ' ' Not one peny , ' sayd the knyght , 6 By god that maked me . ' ' Thou art a shrewed dettour , ' sayd the abbot ; ' Syr justyce , drynke to me . What doost thou here , ' sayd the abbot , ' But thou haddest ...
... thou brought my pay ? ' ' Not one peny , ' sayd the knyght , 6 By god that maked me . ' ' Thou art a shrewed dettour , ' sayd the abbot ; ' Syr justyce , drynke to me . What doost thou here , ' sayd the abbot , ' But thou haddest ...
Сторінка 52
... thou me . ' ' Shalt thou never ete ne drynke , ' sayd the stuarde , ' Tyll my lord be come to towne . ' ' I make myn avowe to god , ' sayd Lytell Johan , I had lever to cracke thy crowne . ' The butler was ful uncurteys , There he stode ...
... thou me . ' ' Shalt thou never ete ne drynke , ' sayd the stuarde , ' Tyll my lord be come to towne . ' ' I make myn avowe to god , ' sayd Lytell Johan , I had lever to cracke thy crowne . ' The butler was ful uncurteys , There he stode ...
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The Pictorial Book of Ancient Ballad Poetry of Great Britain, Historical ... J. S. Moore Повний перегляд - 1853 |
Загальні терміни та фрази
Adam Bell ancient awaye ballad blood bold bonnie green woods bower brave bride bright castle Catskin Childe Maurice Colonsay daughter daye dear doth Ettricke Foreste fair fast father fayre fear fell fight frae gold grene wode grete hand hast hath heard heart heire of Linne holy horse king knight kynge lady ladye land Little John litulle lord loud Lytell Johan maid maun merry monke myght ne'er never noble o'er Percy Percy Society pray pretty Bessee queen quoth Robin Hood Robyn Hode sayd Robyn saye Scadlock Scotland seyde shee sheryf Sir Aldingar slain song soon sore spake steed stood sweet sword tears tell thee ther theyr thou art thou shalt thre tree Twas unto Whan wolde woods of Killeevy words wyfe wyll wyth yemen young young Beichan
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Сторінка 693 - their rich attire; Blue, glossy green, and velvet black, They coiled and swam; and every track Was a flash of golden fire. O happy living things! no tongue Their beauty might declare: A spring of love gusht from my heart, And I blessed them unaware : Sure my kind saint took pity on me. And I blessed them unaware.
Сторінка 697 - dungeon fitter; All fixed on me their stony eyes, That in the Moon did glitter. The pang, the curse, with which they died, Had never passed away; I could not draw my eyes from theirs, Nor turn them up to pray. And now this spell was snapt; once more The curse is finally
Сторінка 689 - And every tongue, through utter drought, Was withered at the root: We could not speak, no more than if We had been choked with soot. Ah, well-a-day! what evil looks Had I from old and young! Instead of the cross, the Albatross About my neck was hung. PART
Сторінка 591 - So, fair and softly, John he cried, But John he cried in vain; That trot became a gallop soon, In spite of curb and rein. So stooping down, as needs he must Who cannot sit upright, He graspt the mane with both his hands, And eke with all
Сторінка 10 - Erle Percy took his way; The child may rue that is unborne The hunting of that day. The stout Erle of Northumberland A vow to God did make, His pleasure in the Scottish woods Three summers days to take; The cheefest harts in Chevy-Chase To kill and beare away. These tydings to Erle Douglas came, In
Сторінка 698 - On every corse there stood! This seraph-band, each waved his hand; It was a heavenly sight; They stood as signals to the land, Each one a lovely light; This seraph-band, each waved his hand No voice did they impart— No voice; but O! the silence sank Like music on my heart. But
Сторінка 10 - prevent his sport. The English erle, not fearing that, Did to the woods resort, With fifteen hundred bowmen bold, All chosen men of might, Who knew full well in time of neede To ayme their shafts aright. The gallant greyhounds swiftly ran To chase the fallow deere: On Munday they began to hunt
Сторінка 295 - is there not a ballad, boy, of the King and the Beggar,' he makes Moth say,' The world was very guilty of such a ballad some three ages since;' while, from the next part of his answer, ' but, I think, now 'tis not to be found,
Сторінка 593 - Each comely in its kind. Thus showed his ready wit, My head is twice as big as yours, He held them up, and in his turn They therefore needs must fit. That hangs upon your face; And stop and eat, for well you may But let me scrape the dirt away Be in a hungry case.
Сторінка 690 - With throat unslaked, with black lips baked, Agape they heard me call; Gramercy! they for joy did grin, A flash of joy. And all at once their breath drew in, As they were drinking all. See! see! I cried, she tacks no more And horror