A glossary of provincial words used in Herefordshire, and some o the adjoining counties [by sir G.C. Lewis.].

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Page xi - WESTMORELAND and Cumberland.— Dialogues, Poems, Songs, and Ballads, by various Writers, in the Westmoreland and Cumberland Dialects, now first collected, to which is added a Copious Glossary of Words peculiar to those Counties. Post 8vo, (pp. 408), cloth. 9s.
Page 125 - French estovers : and therefore house-bote is a sufficient allowance of wood, to repair, or to burn in, the house : which latter is sometimes called fire-bote : plough-bote and cart-bote are wood to be employed in making and repairing all instruments of husbandry ; and hay-bote, or hedge-bote, is wood for repairing of hay, hedges, or fences.
Page 47 - Till, at the last, I found a little way Toward a park, enclosed with a wall In compass round, and by a gate small; Whoso that woulde, freely mighte gone Into this park walled with grene' stone. And in I went to hear the birdes...
Page 69 - A question not to be asked. Shall the son of England prove a thief and take purses? A question to be asked. There is a thing, Harry, which thou hast often heard of, and it is known to many in our land by the name of pitch. This pitch, as ancient writers do report, doth defile...
Page 124 - Saxon word, bote, is used by us as synonymous to the French estovers: and therefore house-bote is a sufficient allowance of wood, to repair, or to burn in, the house; which latter is sometimes called...
Page 95 - Blows in your face. I fear your disposition : That nature which contemns its origin Cannot be border'd certain in itself; She that herself will sliver and disbranch From her material sap, perforce must wither, And come to deadly use.
Page 38 - Mother, for love of grace, Lay not that flattering unction to your soul, That not your trespass, but my madness, speaks : It will but skin and film the ulcerous place, While rank corruption, mining all within, Infects unseen.
Page 47 - Unto the town of Walsingham The way is hard for to be gone ; And very crooked are those paths For you to find out all alone." Were the miles doubled thrice, And the way never so ill, It were not enough for mine offence ; It is so grievous and so ill. " Thy years are young, thy face is fair, Thy wits are weak, thy thoughts are green ; Time hath not given thee leave, as yet, For to commit so great a sin.
Page 6 - When the bud of the aul is as big as the trout's eye. Then that fish is in season in the river Wye.
Page xi - Observations on some of the dialects in the West of England particularly Somersetshire ; with a glossary of words now in use there and poems and other pieces exemplifying the dialect.

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