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Стр. 204 - They now to fight are gone, Armour on armour shone, Drum now to drum did groan, To hear was wonder ; That with the cries they make, The very earth did shake, Trumpet to trumpet spake, Thunder to thunder.
Стр. xii - A strange fish! Were I in England now, as once I was, and had but this fish painted, not a holiday fool there but would give a piece of silver. There would this monster make a man. Any strange beast there makes a man. When they will not give a doit to relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see a dead Indian. Legg'd like a man! and his fins like arms! Warm, o
Стр. 203 - Which he neglects the while As from a nation vile, Yet with an angry smile Their fall portending. And turning to his men, Quoth our brave Henry then, ' Though they to one be ten, Be not amazed. Yet have we well begun, Battles so bravely won Have ever to the sun By fame been raised. And for myself...
Стр. 287 - They say he is already in the Forest of Arden, and a many merry men with him ; and there they live like the old Robin Hood of England. They say many young gentlemen flock to him every day, and fleet the time carelessly, as they did in the golden world.
Стр. 152 - Be it knowen that we have given and granted, and by these presents do give and grant...
Стр. 204 - With Spanish yew so strong, Arrows a cloth-yard long, That like to serpents stung, Piercing the weather; None from his fellow starts, But, playing manly parts, And like true English hearts, Stuck close together.
Стр. 241 - What have you done to me?" replied coolly the prisoner: "you killed with your own hands my father, and my two brothers; and you intended to have hanged myself...
Стр. 288 - Muse, first of Arden tell, whose footsteps yet are found In her rough woodlands, more than any other ground That mighty Arden held even in her height of pride, Her one hand touching Trent, the other Severn's side.
Стр. 429 - Apollo's altars in his native town. Now with full force the yielding horn he bends, Drawn to an arch, and joins the doubling ends ; Close to his breast he strains the nerve below, Till the barb'd point approach the circling bow ; The impatient weapon whizzes on the wing ; Sounds the tough horn, and twangs the quivering string.