Political Ballads: Published in England During the Commonwealth

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Thomas Wright
Percy Society, 1841 - Political ballads and songs - 268 pages
 

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Page 61 - Shee gave this comelye dame to drinke ; Who tooke it in her hand, And from her bended knee arose, And on her feet did stand : And casting up her eyes to heaven, She did for mercye calle ; And drinking up the poison stronge, Her life she lost withalle.
Page 231 - ... and the story ends with the pious exclamation, " from which devill and all other devills defend us, good Lord ! Amen." We have spoken of the collections of tales, which, at the end of the sixteenth and beginning of the seventeenth centuries...
Page 210 - In Cheapside there was a great many bonfires, and Bow bells and all the bells in all the churches as we went home were a-ringing. Hence we went homewards, it being about ten at night.
Page 81 - TO HIS LADY THE NIGHT BEFORE HE WAS BEHEADED (1644). Lamentable Complaints of Hop the Brewer and Killcalfe the Butcher (1641). The Countryman's Care and the Citizen's Fare (1641,). Sion's Charity towards her Foes in Misery (1641). Vinegar and Mustard, or Wormwood Lectures for Every Day in the Week (1673).
Page 56 - For I must leave my fairest flower, My sweetest Rose, a space, And cross the seas to famous France, Proud rebelles to abase. But yet, my Rose, be sure thou shalt My coming shortlye see, And in my heart, when hence I am, He beare my Rose with mee.
Page 7 - The shape of men he could not see, The boughs did hide them so : And now his heart...
Page 56 - Full soon shee did beguile : For why, the kinges ungracious sonne, Whom he did high advance, Against his father raised warres Within the realme of France. But yet before our comelye king...
Page 210 - Strand rang a peal with their knives when they were going to sacrifice their rump. On Ludgate Hill there was one turning of the spit that had a rump tied upon it, and another basting of it. Indeed it was past imagination, both the greatness and the suddenness of it.
Page 54 - In homely gray, instead of silk and purest pall, Now all thy cloathing must be. My lady thou must be no more, Nor I thy lord, which grieves me sore ; The poorest life must now content thy mind : A groat to thee I may not give, Thee to maintain, while I do live ; 'Gainst my Grissel such great foes I find.

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