Reliques of Ancient English Poetry:: Consisting of Old Heroic Ballads, Songs, and Other Pieces of Our Earlier Poets, (chiefly of the Lyric Kind.) Together with Some Few of a Later Date..

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Thomas Percy
J. Dodsley in Pall-Mall., 1767 - 400页
 

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第307页 - The following is chiefly printed from an ancient black-letter copy to "the tune of Deny down." AN ancient story He tell you anon Of a notable prince, that was called King John ; And he ruled England with maine and with might, For he did great wrong, and maintein'd little right.
第370页 - Sweet smells the birk, green grows, green grows the grass, Yellow on Yarrow's bank the gowan ; Fair hangs the apple frae the rock, Sweet the wave of Yarrow flowan.
第313页 - You violets that first appear, By your pure purple mantles known Like the proud virgins of the year, As if the spring were all your own ; What are you when the rose is blown ? So, when my mistress shall be seen In form and beauty of her mind, By virtue first, then choice, a Queen, Tell me, if she were not design'd Th...
第314页 - With an old study fill'd full of learned old books, With an old reverend chaplain, you might know him by his looks. With an old buttery hatch worn quite off the hooks, And an old kitchen, that maintain'd half a dozen old cooks; Like an old courtier, &c.
第322页 - With shriller throat shall sing The sweetness, mercy, majesty, And glories of my King; When I shall voice aloud how good He is, how great should be, 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.
第215页 - Aft I have ridden thro' Stirling town, In the wind bot and the weit ; Bot I neir rade thro' Stirling town Wi
第311页 - And then your grace need not make any doubt, But in twenty-four hours you'll ride it about. The king he laughed, and swore by St. Jone, I did not think it could be...
第321页 - WHEN Love with unconfined wings Hovers within my gates, And my divine Althea brings To whisper at the grates — When I lie tangled in her hair And fettered to her eye, The birds that wanton in the air Know no such liberty. When flowing cups run swiftly round With no allaying Thames, Our careless heads with roses bound, Our hearts with loyal flames — When thirsty grief in wine we steep...
第301页 - Tell zeal it lacks devotion ; Tell love it is but lust ; Tell time it is but motion ; Tell flesh it is but dust : And wish them not reply, For thou must give the lie.
第314页 - That kept a brave old house at a bountiful rate, And an old porter to relieve the poor at his gate ; Like an old courtier of the queen's, And the queen's old courtier.

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