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. 24
... shal bete for hem bo , he shal him burewen thah he hire bel By body ant soule y sugge al so , that some beoth founden under felde , That hath to fere is meste fo , of gomenes he mai gon al gelde , ant sore ben fered on folde , Lest he ...
... shal bete for hem bo , he shal him burewen thah he hire bel By body ant soule y sugge al so , that some beoth founden under felde , That hath to fere is meste fo , of gomenes he mai gon al gelde , ant sore ben fered on folde , Lest he ...
Стр. 39
... shal that lefly syng , That thus is marred in mournyng ? Heo me wol to dethe bryng , longe er my day . Gret hire wel , that swete thyng , with ezenen gray . Hyre heze haveth wounded me y wisse ; Hire bende browen that bringeth blisse ...
... shal that lefly syng , That thus is marred in mournyng ? Heo me wol to dethe bryng , longe er my day . Gret hire wel , that swete thyng , with ezenen gray . Hyre heze haveth wounded me y wisse ; Hire bende browen that bringeth blisse ...
Стр. 44
... ; Wormes woweth under cloude , Wymmen waxeth wounder proude , so wel hit wol hem seme . 3ef me shal wonte wille of on , This wunne weole y wole for - gon , ant wyht in wode be fleme . XIV . [ Fol . 71 , vo . ] 44 SPECIMENS OF.
... ; Wormes woweth under cloude , Wymmen waxeth wounder proude , so wel hit wol hem seme . 3ef me shal wonte wille of on , This wunne weole y wole for - gon , ant wyht in wode be fleme . XIV . [ Fol . 71 , vo . ] 44 SPECIMENS OF.
Стр. 49
... shal murthes meten ; Monne mest y am to mene ; Lord , that hast me lyf to - lene , such lotes lef me leten ! Such lyf ich have lad fol 3ore , Merci , loverd ! y nul namore , bowen ichulle to bete ; Syker hit siweth me ful sore , Gabbes ...
... shal murthes meten ; Monne mest y am to mene ; Lord , that hast me lyf to - lene , such lotes lef me leten ! Such lyf ich have lad fol 3ore , Merci , loverd ! y nul namore , bowen ichulle to bete ; Syker hit siweth me ful sore , Gabbes ...
Стр. 50
... shal murthes mete . To mete murthes ich wes wel fous , ant comely mon ta calle ; Y sugge by other ase bi ous , Alse ys hirmon halt in hous , ase heved hount in halle . Dredful deth , why wolt thou dare , Bryng this body that is so bare ...
... shal murthes mete . To mete murthes ich wes wel fous , ant comely mon ta calle ; Y sugge by other ase bi ous , Alse ys hirmon halt in hous , ase heved hount in halle . Dredful deth , why wolt thou dare , Bryng this body that is so bare ...
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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?