Early English Poetry, Ballads, and Popular Literature of the Middle Ages, Volume 13

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Page 99 - HOW hard is my fortune. And vain my repining ! The strong rope of fate For this young neck is twining. My strength is departed, My cheek sunk and sallow, While I languish in chains In the gaol of Clonmala.' No boy in the village Was ever yet milder. I'd play with a child, And my sport would be wilder ; I'd dance without tiring From morning till even, And the goal-ball I'd strike To the lightning of heaven. At my bed-foot decaying, My hurlbat is lying ; Thro...
Page iii - I have caused divers of them to be translated unto me, that I might understand them, and surely they savoured of sweet wit and good invention, but skilled not of the goodly ornaments of poetry ; yet were they sprinkled with some pretty flowers of their natural device, which gave good grace and comeliness unto them...
Page 59 - Through ocean to trail him, Like a fish after slaughter— 'Tis therefore I wail him. Long may the curse Of his people pursue them : Scully that sold him, And soldier that slew him ! One glimpse of heaven's light May they see never ! May the hearthstone of hell Be their best bed...
Page 32 - Cupid's rival is, There miracles are seen of his. If Cynthia crave her ring of me, I blot her name out of the tree. If doubt do darken things held dear, Then well fare nothing once a year ! For many run, but one must win ; Fools, only, hedge the cuckoo in.
Page 29 - Beauty, strength, youth, are flowers but fading seen; Duty, faith, love* are roots, and ever green. His helmet now shall make a hive for bees; And lovers...
Page 32 - Then well-fare nothing once a year ; For many run but one must win, Fools only hedge the cuckoo in. The worth that worthiness should move, Is love ; that is the bow of love ; And love as well the foster can, As can the mighty nobleman. Sweet saint, 'tis true you worthy be. Yet without love nought worth to me. Lin BUT that familiar things are never wonder, What greater beauty than the heavens...
Page 17 - STAY, sweet love, see here the place of sporting; These gentle flowers smile sweetly to invite us, And chirping birds are hitherwards resorting, Warbling sweet notes only to delight us. Then stay, dear love, for though thou run from me, Run neere so faste, yet I will follow thee.
Page 1 - What foodless beast can live long in good plight ? Or is it life where senses there be none ? Or what availeth eyes without their light ? Or else a tongue to him that is alone ? Is this a life ? Nay, death you may it call That feels each pain and knows no joy at all.
Page 15 - Now each creature joys the other, Passing happy days and hours; One bird reports unto another In the fall of silver showers, Whilst the earth, our common mother, Hath her bosom decked with flowers. Whilst the greatest torch of heaven With bright rays warms Flora's lap, Making nights and days both even, Cheering plants with fresher sap; My field of flowers quite bereaven Wants refresh of better hap.

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