English Poems: Old English and middle English periods 450-1550

Walter Cochrane Bronson
University of Chicago Press, 1910

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Pàgina 130 - But al be that he was a philosophre, Yet hadde he but litel gold in cofre...
Pàgina 245 - True Thomas he took off his hat, And bowed him low down till his knee : " All hail, thou mighty Queen of Heaven ! For your peer on earth I never did see.
Pàgina 127 - Of smal coral aboute hir arm she bar A peire of bedes, gauded al with grene; And ther-on heng a broche of gold ful shene, 160 On which ther was first write a crowned A, And after, Amor vincit omnia.
Pàgina 141 - Everich a word, if it be in his charge, Al speke he never so rudeliche and large, Or ellis he moot telle his tale untrewe, Or feyne thyng, or fynde wordes newe.
Pàgina 123 - Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote The droghte of Marche hath perced to the roote, And bathed every veyne in swich licour. Of which vertu engendred is the flour...
Pàgina 125 - Somtyme with the lord of Palatye Agayn another hethen in Turkye. And everemoore he hadde a sovereyn prys; And though that he were worthy, he was wys, And of his port as meeke as is a mayde. He nevere yet no vileynye ne sayde In al his lyf unto no maner wight. He was a verray, parfit gentil knyght.
Pàgina 246 - And see ye not that braid braid road, That lies across that lily leven? That is the path of wickedness, Tho some call it the road to heaven. "And see not ye that bonny road, That winds about the fernie brae? That is the road to fair Elfland, Where thou and I this night maun gae. "But, Thomas, ye maun hold your tongue, Whatever ye may hear or see, For, if you speak word in Elflyn land, Ye'll neer get back to your ain countrie.
Pàgina 227 - THE king sits in Dumferling toune, Drinking the blude-reid wine: "O whar will I get guid sailor, To sail this schip of mine?" Up and spak an eldern knicht, Sat at the kings richt kne: "Sir Patrick Spence is the best sailor. That sails upon the se.
Pàgina 145 - His byle was blak, and as the jeet it shoon ; Lyk asure were his legges and his toon ; His nayles whiter than the lylye flour, And lyk the burned gold was his colour.
Pàgina 218 - For Wetharryngton my harte was wo, That ever he slayne shulde be ; For when both his leggis wear hewyne in to, Yet he knyled and fought on hys kne.

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