Early English Poetry, Ballads, and Popular Literature of the Middle Ages: Specimens of lyric poetry, composed in England in the reign of Edward the FirstPercy Society, 1841 |
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Стр. 28
... sent , From alle wymmen mi love is lent ant lyht on Alysoun . On heu hire her is fayr y - noh , hire browe broune , hire езе blake ; With lossum chere he on me loh ; with middel smal ant wel y - make ; Bote he me wolle to hire take ...
... sent , From alle wymmen mi love is lent ant lyht on Alysoun . On heu hire her is fayr y - noh , hire browe broune , hire езе blake ; With lossum chere he on me loh ; with middel smal ant wel y - make ; Bote he me wolle to hire take ...
Стр. 29
... resting on honde , Ant sent thou me thi sonde , sone , er thou me slo ; my reste is with the ro : Thah men to me han onde , To love nuly noht wonde , ne lete for non of tho . Levedi , with al my miht My love is on LYRIC POETRY . 65 29.
... resting on honde , Ant sent thou me thi sonde , sone , er thou me slo ; my reste is with the ro : Thah men to me han onde , To love nuly noht wonde , ne lete for non of tho . Levedi , with al my miht My love is on LYRIC POETRY . 65 29.
Стр. 33
... sent in londe of levedis alle . IX . [ Fol . 66 , vo . ] MOSTI ryden by Rybbesdale , Wilde wymmen forte wale , ant welde wuch ich wolde ; Founde were the feyrest on That ever wes mad of blod ant bon in boure best with bolde . Ase sonne ...
... sent in londe of levedis alle . IX . [ Fol . 66 , vo . ] MOSTI ryden by Rybbesdale , Wilde wymmen forte wale , ant welde wuch ich wolde ; Founde were the feyrest on That ever wes mad of blod ant bon in boure best with bolde . Ase sonne ...
Стр. 51
... Sent thou me my suetyng . Blow , northerne wynd , blou , blou , blou ! Ichot a burde in boure bryht , That fully semly is on syht , Menskful maiden of myht , feir ant fre to fonde ; In al this wurhliche won , A burde of blod ant of bon ...
... Sent thou me my suetyng . Blow , northerne wynd , blou , blou , blou ! Ichot a burde in boure bryht , That fully semly is on syht , Menskful maiden of myht , feir ant fre to fonde ; In al this wurhliche won , A burde of blod ant of bon ...
Стр. 8
... sent , His kyngdam for to cleymyn , So blyssid be the tyme ! Al in a clene maydyn our Lord was i - lyzt , Us for to savyn with al his myst , So blyssid , etc. Al of a clene maydyn our Lord was i - 8 CHRISTMAS CAROLS .
... sent , His kyngdam for to cleymyn , So blyssid be the tyme ! Al in a clene maydyn our Lord was i - lyzt , Us for to savyn with al his myst , So blyssid , etc. Al of a clene maydyn our Lord was i - 8 CHRISTMAS CAROLS .
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bien blisse blod bote brede bryht bryng carrion crow Catskin chyld Crist cuer dame dance deth Dieu drynke femme fere feyr ffor fust Godes grete hath haveth hevene heze hire honde huerte Jack Horner JAMES ORCHARD HALLIWELL Jhesu John John Crowder joie king kyng lady levedy loke thou londe lord lordys Lucy Locket lyht maid Mary mede merry Mès mete molt myht namore noht nout nowell nyht old woman Percy Society Quar Richard to Robin Robin to Bobbin rode ryzt sauntz says Richard says Robin schalle shal shalbe shulde sing sone song sore speke stonde suete Suete Jhesu sunne syng thah ther thoht thou art thow thre thyng tiel trewe tyme wife WILLIAM CHAPPELL withouten Wolcum wolde wylle yf thou
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Стр. 179 - OLD King Cole was a merry old soul, And a merry old soul was he; He called for his pipe, and he called for his bowl, And he called for his fiddlers three.
Стр. 84 - Hey, diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle, The cow jumped over the moon. The little dog laughed to see such sport, And the dish ran away with the spoon!
Стр. 132 - One, two, Buckle my shoe; Three, four, Shut the door; Five, six, Pick up sticks; Seven, eight, Lay them straight; Nine, ten, A good fat hen; Eleven, twelve, Who will delve?
Стр. 27 - The boar's head in hand bear I, Bedeck'd with bays and rosemary ; And I pray you, my masters, be merry Quot estis in convivio. Caput apri defero, Reddens laudes domino.
Стр. 63 - SO now is come our joyful'st feast; Let every man be jolly, Each room with ivy leaves is drest, And every post with holly. Though some churls at our mirth repine, Round your foreheads garlands twine, Drown sorrow in a cup of wine, And let us all be merry. Now, all our neighbours...
Стр. 5 - Then came the Holy One, blessed be He ! And killed the Angel of Death, That killed the butcher, That slew the ox, That drank the water, That quenched the fire, That burned the staff, That beat the dog, That bit the cat, That ate the kid That my father bought For two pieces of money: A kid, a kid.
Стр. 95 - As I was going to St. Ives, I met a man with seven wives, Every wife had seven sacks, Every sack had seven cats, Every cat had seven kits— Kits, cats, sacks, and wives, How many were going to St. Ives?
Стр. 46 - Sing a song of sixpence, A pocket full of rye; Four and twenty blackbirds Baked in a pie. When the pie was opened, The birds began to sing; Wasn't that a dainty dish To set before the king?
Стр. 64 - Young men and maids, and girls and boys, Give life to one another's joys; And you anon shall by their noise Perceive that they are merry.
Стр. 9 - Pussy cat, pussy cat, where have you been? I've been to London to look at the queen. Pussy cat, pussy cat, what did you there?