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. 57
... shal misse ! Suete Jhesu , min huerte lyht , Thou art day with - oute nyht , Thou zeve me streinthe ant eke myht , Forte lovien the a - ryht . Suete Jhesu , min huerte bote , In myn huerte thou sete a rote Of thi love , that is so swote ...
... shal misse ! Suete Jhesu , min huerte lyht , Thou art day with - oute nyht , Thou zeve me streinthe ant eke myht , Forte lovien the a - ryht . Suete Jhesu , min huerte bote , In myn huerte thou sete a rote Of thi love , that is so swote ...
Стр. 61
... shal , ne hou longe her duelle . XXI . [ Fol . 76 , ro . ] When y se blosmes springe , ant here soules song ; A suete love - longynge myn herte thourh out stong , Al for a love newe , That is so suete ant trewe , that gladieth al my ...
... shal , ne hou longe her duelle . XXI . [ Fol . 76 , ro . ] When y se blosmes springe , ant here soules song ; A suete love - longynge myn herte thourh out stong , Al for a love newe , That is so suete ant trewe , that gladieth al my ...
Стр. 69
... shal y tharefore zelde the ? Thar nys noht bote hit love be . Jhesu , my God , Jhesu , my kyng , Thou ne askesd me non other thing , Bote trewe love ant eke servyng , Ant leve teres with suete mournyng . Jhesu , my lyf , Jhesu , my lyht ...
... shal y tharefore zelde the ? Thar nys noht bote hit love be . Jhesu , my God , Jhesu , my kyng , Thou ne askesd me non other thing , Bote trewe love ant eke servyng , Ant leve teres with suete mournyng . Jhesu , my lyf , Jhesu , my lyht ...
Стр. 74
... sugge , bote wolawo ! When mi lif is me at - go ? Jesu , thin ore thou rewe of me ; For whenne shal ich come to the ; Jesu , thi lore biddeth me , With al myn herte lovie the . Jesu , mi lif , Jhesu , my kyng , 74 SPECIMENS OF.
... sugge , bote wolawo ! When mi lif is me at - go ? Jesu , thin ore thou rewe of me ; For whenne shal ich come to the ; Jesu , thi lore biddeth me , With al myn herte lovie the . Jesu , mi lif , Jhesu , my kyng , 74 SPECIMENS OF.
Стр. 75
... To the blisse that ay shal be . Jesu , Jesu , ful wel ben he That yne thi blisse mowen be , Ant fulliche habbe the love of the ! Suete Jesu , thou graunte it me ! Jesu , thy love haveth non endyng , Ther nis LYRIC POETRY . 75.
... To the blisse that ay shal be . Jesu , Jesu , ful wel ben he That yne thi blisse mowen be , Ant fulliche habbe the love of the ! Suete Jesu , thou graunte it me ! Jesu , thy love haveth non endyng , Ther nis LYRIC POETRY . 75.
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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?