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, Volume 2

L.A. Lewis, 1839 - 307 pages

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Page 370 - Why so pale and wan, fond lover? Prithee, why so pale? Will, when looking well can't move her, Looking ill prevail? Prithee, why so pale?
Page 335 - You meaner beauties of the night, That poorly satisfy our eyes More by your number than your light ; You common people of the skies ; What are you when the moon shall rise?
Page 336 - An old song, made by an aged old pate, Of an old worshipful gentleman who had a great estate, That kept a brave old house at a bountiful rate, And an old porter to relieve the poor at his gate...
Page 332 - The first is to tell him there in that stead, With his crowne of golde so fair on his head, Among all his liege-men so noble of birth, To within one penny of what he is worth. " The seconde, to tell him, without any doubt, How soone he may ride this whole world about.
Page 345 - Enlarged winds, that curl the flood, Know no such liberty. Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage; Minds innocent and quiet take That for an hermitage; If I have freedom in my love And in my soul am free, Angels alone, that soar above, Enjoy such liberty.
Page 85 - Till quite dejected with my scorn, He left me to my pride ; And sought a solitude forlorn, In secret, where he died. " But mine the sorrow, mine the fault, And well my life shall pay ; I'll seek the solitude he sought, And stretch me where he lay.
Page 396 - But who the expected husband husband is ? His hands, methinks, are bath'd in slaughter : Ah me ! what ghastly spectre's yon Comes in his pale shroud, bleeding after ? Pale as he is, here lay him, lay him down, O lay his cold head on my pillow ; Take aff, take aff, these bridal weids, And crown my careful head with willow. Pale tho...
Page 330 - Abbot of Canterburye ; How for his house-keeping, and high renowne, They rode poste for him to fair London towne. An hundred men, the king did heare say, The abbot kept in his house every day ; And fifty golde chaynes, without any doubt, In velvet coates waited the abbot about.
Page 333 - fore our fader the pope. Now welcome, sire abbot, the king he did say, Tis well thou'rt come back to keepe thy day ; For and if thou canst answer my questions three, Thy life and thy living both saved shall bee.

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