Reliques of Ancient English Poetry: Consisting of Old Heroic Ballads, Songs, and Other Pieces of Our Earlier Poets; Together with Some Few of Later Date, Том 3F.C. and J. Rivington, 1812 |
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Стр. 23
... side , beset round with pavilions or tents : he is in- formed , in the castle is a beautiful lady besieged by a giant named Maugys , who keeps the bridge , and will let none pass without doing him homage : this Lybius refuses a battle ...
... side , beset round with pavilions or tents : he is in- formed , in the castle is a beautiful lady besieged by a giant named Maugys , who keeps the bridge , and will let none pass without doing him homage : this Lybius refuses a battle ...
Стр. 27
... sides divers cloaths of silk and gold given to his ser- vants . 6. The Romance of Syr Bevis is described in this volume , Book III . No. I. Two manuscript copies of this poem are extant at Cambridge ; viz . in the Public Library * , and ...
... sides divers cloaths of silk and gold given to his ser- vants . 6. The Romance of Syr Bevis is described in this volume , Book III . No. I. Two manuscript copies of this poem are extant at Cambridge ; viz . in the Public Library * , and ...
Стр. 61
... The spice was never soe sweete . Sir Gawaine kiss'd that lady brighte , Lying there by his side : 110 " The fairest flower is not soe faire : Thou never can'st bee my bride . ” I am thy bride , mine owne deare lorde , I am SIR GAWAINE . 61.
... The spice was never soe sweete . Sir Gawaine kiss'd that lady brighte , Lying there by his side : 110 " The fairest flower is not soe faire : Thou never can'st bee my bride . ” I am thy bride , mine owne deare lorde , I am SIR GAWAINE . 61.
Стр. 71
... side there were left but three . 60 For all were slain that durst abide , And but some fewe that fled awaye : Ay mee ! it was a bloodye fielde , As ere was foughte on summer's daye . Upon king Arthur's own partyè , Onlye himselfe ...
... side there were left but three . 60 For all were slain that durst abide , And but some fewe that fled awaye : Ay mee ! it was a bloodye fielde , As ere was foughte on summer's daye . Upon king Arthur's own partyè , Onlye himselfe ...
Стр. 74
... side he went , And there his owne sword in threwe he : But he kept back Excalibar , 135 He kept it back in privitie . For all of coleyne was the blade ; And all the hilte of precious stone : And ever alacke ! then sayd the knighte ...
... side he went , And there his owne sword in threwe he : But he kept back Excalibar , 135 He kept it back in privitie . For all of coleyne was the blade ; And all the hilte of precious stone : And ever alacke ! then sayd the knighte ...
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Часто встречающиеся слова и выражения
ancient awaye ballad Barbara Allen Bevis black-letter bower brest bride bright castle Childe Waters Chivalry clubb Cotton Library dame daughter daye deare death distichs doth dragon Editor's folio Ellen eyes fair Annet Fairies father fell foot-page France French gentle George Gill Morice gold grone Guenever gyant hand hart hast hath head heart Honi soit intitled King Arthur kisse knight lady ladye land Library litle little Musgrave lord Barnard lord Thomas maid mantle manye Margret merry miller Mordred never noble old Romance Pepys Collection poem Poetry praye prince printed copy queene quoth quoth hee sayd sayes shee shew shold sir Gawaine Sir Kay Sir Lybius song sonne sore stanzas steede story sweet William sword tale teares tell thee thou true love unkle unto Whan wife WITCH wold zour
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Стр. 254 - When in one night, ere glimpse of morn, His shadowy flail hath threshed the corn That ten day-labourers could not end ; Then lies him down the lubber fiend, And, stretched out all the chimney's length, Basks at the fire his hairy strength, And crop-full out of doors he flings, Ere the first cock his matin rings.
Стр. 219 - Still to be neat, still to be drest, As you were going to a feast; Still to be powdered, still perfumed: Lady, it is to be presumed, Though art's hid causes are not found, All is not sweet, all is not sound. Give me a look, give me a face, That makes simplicity a grace; Robes loosely flowing, hair as free; Such sweet neglect more taketh me Than all th...
Стр. 126 - At cards for kisses — Cupid paid ; He stakes his quiver, bow and arrows, His mother's doves, and team of sparrows ; Loses them too ; then down he throws The coral of his lip, the rose Growing on's cheek (but none knows how) ; With these, the crystal of his brow, And then the dimple of his chin : All these did my Campaspe win. At last he set her both his eyes, She won, and Cupid blind did rise. O Love ! has she done this to thee ? What shall, alas ! become of me...
Стр. 393 - 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.
Стр. 302 - HE that loves a rosy Cheek, Or a coral Lip admires ; Or from star-like Eyes doth seek Fuel to maintain his fires : As old Time makes these decay, So his flames must waste away ! But a smooth and steadfast Mind, Gentle Thoughts, and calm Desires, Hearts with equal love combined, Kindle never-dying fires ! Where these are not ; I despise Lovely Cheeks ! or Lips ! or Eyes...
Стр. 337 - Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind, To war and arms I fly. True, a new mistress now I chase, The first foe in the field; And with a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield. Yet this inconstancy is such As you too shall adore; I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honour more.
Стр. 243 - Think what with them they would do That without them dare to woo ; And unless that mind I see, What care I how great she be ? Great, or good, or kind, or fair, I will ne'er the more despair: If she love me, this believe, I will die ere she shall grieve : If she slight me when I woo, I can scorn and let her go ; For if she be not for me, What care I for whom she be ? George Wither.
Стр. 265 - Mary's days On many a grassy plain. But since of late Elizabeth, And, later, James came in, They never danced on any heath, As when the time hath bin.
Стр. 126 - ... paid; He stakes his quiver, bow and arrows, His mother's doves, and team of sparrows; Loses them too; then down he throws The coral of his lip, the rose Growing on's cheek (but none knows how), With these, the crystal of his brow, And then the dimple of his chin; All these did my Campaspe win. At last he set her both his eyes, She won, and Cupid blind did rise. O Love! has she done this to thee? What shall, alas! become of me? THE SONGS OF BIRDS What bird so sings, yet so does wail? O 'tis the...