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Seite 28 - Proud Maisie is in the wood, Walking so early; Sweet Robin sits on the bush, Singing so rarely. '"Tell me, thou bonny bird. When shall I marry me?' 'When six braw gentlemen Kirkward shall carry ye.' '"Who makes the bridal bed, Birdie, say truly?' — 'The grey-headed sexton, That delves the grave duly. "The glow-worm o'er grave and stone Shall light thee steady; The owl from the steeple sing, 'Welcome, proud lady.
Seite 16 - When lovely woman stoops to folly, And finds too late that men betray ; What charm can soothe her melancholy, What art can wash her guilt away ? The only art her guilt to cover, To hide her shame from every eye, To give repentance to her lover, And wring his bosom — is to die.
Seite 9 - Love in my bosom like a bee Doth suck his sweet; Now with his wings he plays with me, Now with his feet. Within mine eyes he makes his nest, His bed amidst my tender breast, My kisses are his daily feast, And yet he robs me of my rest — Ah, wanton, will ye?
Seite 18 - And curs of low degree. This dog and man at first were friends ; But when a pique began, The dog, to gain some private ends, Went mad and bit the man. Around, from all the...
Seite 100 - Mary, go and call the cattle home, And call the cattle home, And call the cattle home Across the sands of Dee!
Seite xviii - Sweet are the thoughts that savour of content ; The quiet mind is richer than a crown ; Sweet are the nights in careless slumber spent ; The poor estate scorns fortune's angry frown : Such sweet content, such minds, such sleep, such bliss, Beggars enjoy, when princes 6ft do miss.
Seite 10 - I'll count your power not worth a pin: Alas, what hereby shall I win, If he gainsay me ? What if I beat the wanton boy With many a rod ? He will repay me with annoy, Because a god. Then sit thou safely on my knee, And let thy bower my bosom be, Lurk in mine eyes, I like of thee; O Cupid, so thou pity me, Spare not, but play thee.
Seite 83 - Whole ages have fled and their works decayed, And nations have scattered been; But the stout old Ivy shall never fade From its hale and hearty green. The brave old plant in its lonely days, Shall fatten upon the past: For the stateliest building man can raise Is the Ivy's food at last.
Seite 36 - Diamonds on the brake are gleaming; And foresters have busy been To track the buck in thicket green; Now we come to chant our lay 'Waken, lords and ladies gay.