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ancient appears armes ballad bowe brave bring called collection copy court daughter dear death doth Douglas downe earl Edward England English eyes fair fall father fell fight gave give given gold gone grace greene ground hand hart hast hath head heare heart Henry intitled John kind king knight kyng lady ladye land late letter live lord mind never noble original Percy perhaps pieces play poem poets poor prince printed probably queene quoth reader rest Robin Robin Hood sayd sayes Scottish seems seen shalt shee Sing song soon stand stanzas sweet taken tell thee thing thou thought tooke true unto willow wold written young youth
Page 22 - I never heard the old song of Percy and Douglas that I found not my heart moved more than with a trumpet...
Page 205 - Some have too much, yet still do crave; I little have, and seek no more. They are but poor, though much they have, And I am rich with little store: They poor, I rich; they beg, I give; They lack, I leave; they pine, I live.
Page 187 - Against Sir Hugh Montgomery *So right the shaft he set, The gray goose wing that was thereon In his heart's blood was wet. This fight did last from break of day Till setting of the sun ; For when they rung the evening-bell, The battle scarce was done.
Page 467 - AN ancient story I'll tell you anon Of a notable prince that was called King John; And he ruled England with main and with might, For he did great wrong, and maintained little right. And I'll tell you a story, a story so merry, Concerning the Abbot of Canterbury; How for his house-keeping and high renown, They rode post for him to fair London town.
Page 159 - A honey tongue, a heart of gall, Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall. 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.
Page 189 - Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill; But their strong nerves at last must yield They tame but one another still: Early or late, They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath, When they, pale captives, creep to death.
Page 290 - To part with you, the same : And sure all tho, that do not so, True lovers are they none ; For, in my mynde, of all mankynde I love but you alone.
Page 205 - Content I live, this is my stay, I seek no more than may suffice; I press to bear no haughty sway; Look, what I lack my mind supplies. Lo! thus I triumph like a king, Content with that my mind doth bring.