Reliques of Ancient English Poetry: Consisting of Old Heroic Ballads, Songs, and Other Pieces of Our Earlier Poets, Together with Some Few of Later Date, Volume 2

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J. Dodsley, 1775
 

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Page 302 - With an old study fill'd full of learned old books, With an old reverend chaplain, you might know him by his looks, With an old buttery hatch worn quite off the hooks, And an old kitchen, that maintain'd half a dozen old cooks ; Like an old courtier, &c.
Page 297 - And then your grace need not make any doubt, But in twenty-four hours you'll ride it about. The king he laughed, and swore by St. Jone, I did not think it could be...
Page 310 - With shriller throat shall sing The sweetness, mercy, majesty, And glories of my King; When I shall voice aloud how good He is, how great should be, Enlarged winds, that curl the flood, Know no such liberty. Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage; Minds innocent and quiet take That for an hermitage; If I have freedom in my love And in my soul am free, Angels alone, that soar above, Enjoy such liberty.
Page 309 - WHEN Love with unconfined wings Hovers within my gates, And my divine Althea brings To whisper at the grates When I lie tangled in her hair And fettered to her eye, The birds that wanton in the air Know no such liberty. When flowing cups run swiftly round With no allaying Thames, Our careless heads with roses bound, Our hearts with loyal flames When thirsty grief in wine we steep...
Page 356 - Sweet smells the birk, green grows, green grows the grass, Yellow on Yarrow's bank the gowan ; Fair hangs the apple frae the rock, Sweet the wave of Yarrow flowan.
Page 315 - Even then her charming melody doth prove, That all her bars are trees, her cage a grove. I am that bird, whom they combine Thus to deprive of liberty ; But though they do my corps confine, Yet maugre hate, my soul is free : And though immur'd, yet can I chirp, and sing Disgrace to rebels, glory to my king.
Page 302 - That kept a brave old house at a bountiful rate, And an old porter to relieve the poor at his gate ; Like an old courtier of the queen's, And the queen's old courtier.
Page 357 - My love, as he had not been a lover. The boy put on his robes, his robes of green, His purple vest, 'twas my ain sewing; Ah!
Page 132 - The like was never scene. Most curiously that bower was built Of stone and timber strong, An hundered and fifty doors Did to this bower belong : And they so cunninglye contriv'd With turnings round about, That none but with a clue of thread, Could enter in or out.
Page 218 - If our foes you may be termed, Gentle foes we have you found : With our city, you have won our hearts each one, Then to your country bear away, that is your own.

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