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

Forside
G. Routledge and sons, 1859 - 610 sider
 

Hva folk mener - Skriv en omtale

Vi har ikke funnet noen omtaler på noen av de vanlige stedene.

Innhold


Andre utgaver - Vis alle

Vanlige uttrykk og setninger

Populære avsnitt

Side 108 - If all the world and love were young, And truth in every shepherd's tongue, These pretty pleasures might me move To live with thee and be thy Love.
Side 159 - HOW happy is he born and taught That serveth not another's will; Whose armour is his honest thought, And simple truth his utmost skill...
Side 43 - Late late yestreen I saw the new moone, Wi the auld moone in hir arme, And I feir, I feir, my deir master, That we will cum to harme.' O our Scots nobles wer richt laith To weet their cork-heild schoone ; Bot lang owre a' the play wer playd, Thair hats they swam aboone.
Side 460 - Love wont to gae ! 1 leant my back unto an aik, I thought it was a trusty tree ; But first it bow'd, and syne it brak, Sae my true Love did lichtly me. O waly waly, but love be bonny A little time while it is new ; But when 'tis auld, it waxeth cauld And fades awa
Side 108 - A belt of straw and ivy buds With coral clasps and amber studs : And if these pleasures may thee move, Come live with me and be my Love.
Side 131 - The glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things. There is no armour against fate ; Death lays his icy hand on kings : Sceptre and crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
Side 109 - Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of Roses, Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies, Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten: In folly ripe, in reason rotten. Thy belt of straw and Ivy buds, Thy Coral clasps and Amber studs, All these in me no means can move, To come to thee, and be thy love.
Side 131 - Now God be with him, said our king, Sith it will noe better bee ; I trust I have, within my realme, Five hundred as good as hee...
Side 159 - Who God doth late and early pray More of his grace than gifts to lend ; And entertains the harmless day With a well-chosen book or friend ; — This man is freed from servile bands Of hope to rise, or fear to fall ; Lord of himself, though not of lands ; And having nothing, yet hath all.
Side 336 - 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?

Bibliografisk informasjon