Historical ballads, ed. and annotated by C.M. Yonge, arranged to meet the new code of 1882, schedule II., English, Band 3 |
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Seite 22
... merry men is not A simple groom , but by the slot Can track the stricken deer . But hound and brack are kennell❜d all , His merry men are fast in hall , His hawks are on the perch : For they have flown at high and low , And his good ...
... merry men is not A simple groom , but by the slot Can track the stricken deer . But hound and brack are kennell❜d all , His merry men are fast in hall , His hawks are on the perch : For they have flown at high and low , And his good ...
Seite 26
... merry thought , And mocked the man of God to nought , - " Monk - like , he dreams for gain : Give him a hundred pence , but mark Thou bode me better luck , Sir Clerk , What time thou dreamst again.1 1 Vision and reply are historical ...
... merry thought , And mocked the man of God to nought , - " Monk - like , he dreams for gain : Give him a hundred pence , but mark Thou bode me better luck , Sir Clerk , What time thou dreamst again.1 1 Vision and reply are historical ...
Seite 27
... merry huntsmen , call ' Arere ! ' And couple up your pack . " With spurs loud rang the castle hall , And yeomen good their coursers all Untethered from the rack . The draught is made , the tale is told , They take their horns , those ...
... merry huntsmen , call ' Arere ! ' And couple up your pack . " With spurs loud rang the castle hall , And yeomen good their coursers all Untethered from the rack . The draught is made , the tale is told , They take their horns , those ...
Seite 28
... merry blasts between . Foremost , amid his knights of pride , The Red King paced , and at his side Sir Walter Tyrrell free ; For England's love he left his home And sailed across the salt sea - foam From woods of Normandy . He bare his ...
... merry blasts between . Foremost , amid his knights of pride , The Red King paced , and at his side Sir Walter Tyrrell free ; For England's love he left his home And sailed across the salt sea - foam From woods of Normandy . He bare his ...
Seite 29
... merry cry " Avaunt ! " While , shrouded close in woody haunt The gallants take their stand , When , lo ! a hart came bounding by , The king a grey - goose shaft let fly , Then raised his bridle hand . So looking underneath the sun He ...
... merry cry " Avaunt ! " While , shrouded close in woody haunt The gallants take their stand , When , lo ! a hart came bounding by , The king a grey - goose shaft let fly , Then raised his bridle hand . So looking underneath the sun He ...
Häufige Begriffe und Wortgruppen
ARCHBISHOP CHICHELEY arms AULUS DIDIUS AUMERLE banners bards battle bear behold Bertrand du Guesclin blood BOLINGBROKE brave brother Bucentaur BUCKINGHAM Calais CARACTACUS CARDINAL Clarence Cromwell crown dead death deep DICK dost doth DUCHESS Duke Earl England English Enter Exeunt eyes F. T. PALGRAVE fair falchions father fear fell fight France gallant gentle Geoffrey Chaucer GLENDOWER glory Gloster grace grief hand Harry Percy hath head hear heart Heaven Henry IV honour horse host HOTSPUR HUBERT Jack Cade KING HENRY KING RICHARD king's knight look lord Lord Hastings Matthew Gough merry Mortimer never noble Northumberland numbers o'er peace Percy pray Price 8d pride prince QUEEN rebels REGENT Roundhead royal Saint slain sleep smile soul spake spear steed SWINTON sword tears thee thine thou hast thought Tower unto victory waves WOLSEY word Yonge YORK
Beliebte Passagen
Seite 282 - Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay, The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife, The morn the marshalling in arms, — the day Battle's...
Seite 191 - Thou hast most traitorously corrupted the youth of the realm in erecting a {grammar-school ; and whereas, before, our forefathers had no other books but the score and the tally, thou hast caused printing to be used ; and, contrary to the king, his crown, and dignity, thou hast built a paper-mill.
Seite 281 - And there was mounting in hot haste : the steed, The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; And the deep thunder peal on peal afar; And near, the beat of the alarming drum Roused up the soldier ere the morning star; While thronged the citizens with terror dumb, Or whispering, with white lips, — "The foe! They come! They come!
Seite 125 - Was parmaceti for an inward bruise ; And that it was great pity, so it was, That villanous saltpetre should be digg'd Out of the bowels of the harmless earth, Which many a good tall fellow had destroy'd So cowardly ; and, but for these vile guns, He would himself have been a soldier.
Seite 97 - And thus still doing, thus he passed along. Duch. Alas, poor Richard ! where rode he the whilst ? York. As in a theatre, the eyes of men, After a well-graced actor leaves the stage, Are idly bent on him that enters next, Thinking his prattle to be tedious ; Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes Did scowl on Richard ; no man cried, God save him...
Seite 281 - And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, Dewy with nature's tear-drops as they pass, Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, Over the unreturning brave, — alas! Ere evening to be trodden like the grass...
Seite 229 - Why, well; Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell. I know myself now; and I feel within me A peace above all earthly dignities, A still and quiet conscience.
Seite 228 - Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, This many summers in a sea of glory, But far beyond my depth : my high blown pride At length broke under me ; and now has left me Weary, and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye : I feel my heart new open'd : O ! how wretched Is that poor man, that hangs on princes
Seite 43 - Nor e'en thy virtues, tyrant, shall avail To save thy secret soul from nightly fears, From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears!
Seite 44 - Hark, how each giant oak, and desert cave, Sighs to the torrent's awful voice beneath ! O'er thee, 0 king ! their hundred arms they wave, Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe ; Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal day, To high-born Hoel's harp, or soft Llewellyn's lay.