Chief British Poets of the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Centuries: Selected PoemsWilliam Allan Neilson, Kenneth Grant Tremayne Webster Houghton Mifflin, 1916 - 442 pagina's |
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Chief British Poets of the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Centuries: Selected Poems William Allan Neilson Volledige weergave - 1916 |
Veelvoorkomende woorden en zinsdelen
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Populaire passages
Pagina 95 - In felawshipe, and pilgrims were they alle, That toward Caunterbury wolden ryde; The chambres and the stables weren wyde, And wel we weren esed atte beste. And shortly, whan the sonne was to reste, So hadde I spoken with hem everichon...
Pagina 309 - She neard Our Lady's deep draw-well, Was fifty fathom deep : "Whareer ye be, my sweet Sir Hugh, I pray you to me speak.
Pagina 141 - Gentil sire, alias ! wher wol ye gon ? Be ye affrayed of me that am your freend ? Now certes, I were worse than a feend, If I to yow wolde harm or vileinye.
Pagina 321 - We scarce had won the Staneshaw-bank, When a' the Carlisle bells were rung, And a thousand men, in horse and foot, Cam' wi' the keen Lord Scroope along. Buccleuch has turned to Eden water, Even where it flow'd frae bank to brim, And he has plunged in wi' a' his band, And safely swam them thro
Pagina 95 - To telle yow al the condicioun Of ech of hem, so as it semed me, And whiche they weren, and of what degree, And eek in what array that they were inne; And at a knyght than wol I first bigynne.
Pagina 96 - In hope to stonden in his lady grace. Embrouded was he, as it were a mede Al ful of fresshe floures, whyte and rede. 90 Singinge he was, or floytinge, al the day ; He was as fresh as is the month of May.
Pagina 248 - Merry Margaret As midsummer flower, Gentle as falcon Or hawk of the tower: With solace and gladness, Much mirth and no madness, All good and no badness; So joyously, So maidenly, So womanly Her demeaning In every thing, Far, far passing, That I can indite, Or suffice to write Of Merry Margaret As midsummer flower, Gentle as falcon Or hawk of the tower.
Pagina 96 - After the scole of Stratford atte Bowe, For Frensh of Paris was to hir unknowe. At mete wel y-taught was she with-alle; She leet no morsel from hir lippes falle, Ne wette hir fingres in hir sauce depe.
Pagina 264 - In behint yon auld fail dyke, I wot there lies a new-slain Knight ; And naebody kens that he lies there, But his hawk, his hound, and lady fair. ' His hound is to the hunting gane, His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame, His lady's...
Pagina 266 - That I have found in the green sea, And while your body it is on, Drawn shall your blood never be, But if ye touch me tail or fin, I vow my belt your death shall be.