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Стр. 224 - With that there came an arrow keen Out of an English bow, Which struck Earl Douglas to the heart, A deep and deadly blow ; Who never spoke more words than these : Fight on, my merry men all ; For why, my life is at an end, Lord Percy sees my fall.
Стр. 62 - Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings, And Phoebus 'gins arise, His steeds to water at those springs On chaliced flowers that lies; And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes: With every thing that pretty is, My lady sweet, arise: Arise, arise.
Стр. 64 - Lay a garland on my hearse, Of the dismal yew; Maidens, willow branches bear; Say I died true: My love was false, but I was firm From my hour of birth. Upon my buried body lie Lightly, gentle earth!
Стр. 224 - Then leaving life, Earl Percy took The dead man by the hand ; And said, " Earl Douglas, for thy life Would I had lost my land. " O Christ ! my very heart doth bleed With sorrow for thy sake ; For sure, a more redoubted knight Mischance did never take.
Стр. 222 - Then stept a gallant squire forth, Witherington was his name, Who said, I would not have it told To Henry our king for shame, That e'er my captain fought on foot, And I stood looking on. You...
Стр. 88 - I drawe you to record, lords," he said, With that he cast him a gods-pennie : " Now by my fay," sayd the heire of Linne, " And here, good John, is thy money." And he pull'd forth three bagges of gold, And layd them down upon the bord ; All woe begone was John o' the Scales, Soe shent he cold say never a word.
Стр. 60 - It was a lover and his lass, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, That o'er the green corn-field did pass In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding : Sweet lovers love the spring.
Стр. 221 - And take your bows with speed: " And now with me, my countrymen, Your courage forth advance; For...
Стр. 226 - He had a bow bent in his hand, Made of a trusty tree ; An arrow of a cloth-yard long Up to the head drew he...
Стр. 62 - Orpheus with his lute made trees, And the mountain tops that freeze, Bow themselves when he did sing ; To his music plants and flowers Ever sprung, as sun and showers There had made a lasting spring. Every thing that heard him play, Even the billows of the sea, Hung their heads, and then lay by. In sweet music is such art, Killing care and grief of heart Fall asleep, or hearing die.