Historical ballads, ed. and annotated by C.M. Yonge, arranged to meet the new code of 1882, schedule II., English, Volume 3 |
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Page 171
... Dick the butcher , - BEVIS . Then is sin struck down like an ox , and iniquity's throat cut like a calf . HOLLAND . And Smith the weaver . BEVIS . Argo , ' their thread of life is spun . HOLLAND . Come , come , let's fall in with them ...
... Dick the butcher , - BEVIS . Then is sin struck down like an ox , and iniquity's throat cut like a calf . HOLLAND . And Smith the weaver . BEVIS . Argo , ' their thread of life is spun . HOLLAND . Come , come , let's fall in with them ...
Page 172
... DICK ( aside ) . CADE . My father was a Mortimer , DICK ( aside ) . He was an honest man , and a good bricklayer , CADE . My mother a Plantagenet . DICK ( aside ) . I knew her well : she was a nurse . CADE . My wife descended of the Lacies ...
... DICK ( aside ) . CADE . My father was a Mortimer , DICK ( aside ) . He was an honest man , and a good bricklayer , CADE . My mother a Plantagenet . DICK ( aside ) . I knew her well : she was a nurse . CADE . My wife descended of the Lacies ...
Page 175
... ' copies . CADE . Here's a villain ! SMITH . He has a book in his pocket , with red letters in ' t . CADE . Nay , then he is a conjuror . 1 Accounts . DICK . Nay , he can make obligations and write JACK CADE'S REVOLT . 175.
... ' copies . CADE . Here's a villain ! SMITH . He has a book in his pocket , with red letters in ' t . CADE . Nay , then he is a conjuror . 1 Accounts . DICK . Nay , he can make obligations and write JACK CADE'S REVOLT . 175.
Page 179
... DICK . Nay , ' tis too true , therefore he shall be king . SMITH . Sir , he made a chimney in my father's house , and the bricks are alive at this day to testify it ; there- fore deny it not . STAFFORD . And will you credit this base ...
... DICK . Nay , ' tis too true , therefore he shall be king . SMITH . Sir , he made a chimney in my father's house , and the bricks are alive at this day to testify it ; there- fore deny it not . STAFFORD . And will you credit this base ...
Page 180
... DICK . And furthermore , we'll have the Lord Say's head for selling the Dukedom of Maine . CADE . And good reason ; for thereby is England maimed , and fain to go with a staff , but that my puissance holds it up . Fellow kings , I tell ...
... DICK . And furthermore , we'll have the Lord Say's head for selling the Dukedom of Maine . CADE . And good reason ; for thereby is England maimed , and fain to go with a staff , but that my puissance holds it up . Fellow kings , I tell ...
Common terms and phrases
ARCHBISHOP CHICHELEY arms AULUS DIDIUS AUMERLE banners bards battle bear behold Bertrand du Guesclin blood BOLINGBROKE brave brother Bucentaur BUCKINGHAM Calais CARACTACUS CARDINAL Clarence Cromwell crown dead death deep DICK dost doth DUCHESS Duke Earl England English Enter Exeunt eyes F. T. PALGRAVE fair falchions father fear fell fight France gallant gentle Geoffrey Chaucer GLENDOWER glory Gloster grace grief hand Harry Percy hath head hear heart Heaven Henry IV honour horse host HOTSPUR HUBERT Jack Cade KING HENRY KING RICHARD king's knight look lord Lord Hastings Matthew Gough merry Mortimer never noble Northumberland numbers o'er peace Percy pray Price 8d pride prince QUEEN rebels REGENT Roundhead royal Saint slain sleep smile soul spake spear steed SWINTON sword tears thee thine thou hast thought Tower unto victory waves WOLSEY word Yonge YORK
Popular passages
Page 282 - Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay, The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife, The morn the marshalling in arms, — the day Battle's...
Page 191 - Thou hast most traitorously corrupted the youth of the realm in erecting a {grammar-school ; and whereas, before, our forefathers had no other books but the score and the tally, thou hast caused printing to be used ; and, contrary to the king, his crown, and dignity, thou hast built a paper-mill.
Page 281 - And there was mounting in hot haste : the steed, The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; And the deep thunder peal on peal afar; And near, the beat of the alarming drum Roused up the soldier ere the morning star; While thronged the citizens with terror dumb, Or whispering, with white lips, — "The foe! They come! They come!
Page 125 - Was parmaceti for an inward bruise ; And that it was great pity, so it was, That villanous saltpetre should be digg'd Out of the bowels of the harmless earth, Which many a good tall fellow had destroy'd So cowardly ; and, but for these vile guns, He would himself have been a soldier.
Page 97 - And thus still doing, thus he passed along. Duch. Alas, poor Richard ! where rode he the whilst ? York. As in a theatre, the eyes of men, After a well-graced actor leaves the stage, Are idly bent on him that enters next, Thinking his prattle to be tedious ; Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes Did scowl on Richard ; no man cried, God save him...
Page 281 - And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, Dewy with nature's tear-drops as they pass, Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, Over the unreturning brave, — alas! Ere evening to be trodden like the grass...
Page 229 - Why, well; Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell. I know myself now; and I feel within me A peace above all earthly dignities, A still and quiet conscience.
Page 228 - Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, This many summers in a sea of glory, But far beyond my depth : my high blown pride At length broke under me ; and now has left me Weary, and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye : I feel my heart new open'd : O ! how wretched Is that poor man, that hangs on princes
Page 43 - Nor e'en thy virtues, tyrant, shall avail To save thy secret soul from nightly fears, From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears!
Page 44 - Hark, how each giant oak, and desert cave, Sighs to the torrent's awful voice beneath ! O'er thee, 0 king ! their hundred arms they wave, Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe ; Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal day, To high-born Hoel's harp, or soft Llewellyn's lay.