Jhesu, that ys kyng in trone, As Thou shoope bothe sonne and mo… And all that shalle dele and dyght… Now lene us grace such dedus to do… In Thy blys that we may wone -
Westron wind, when wilt thou blow That small rain down can rain? Christ, that my love were in my ar… And I in my bed again!
SAYS Tweed to Till— ‘What gars ye rin sae still?’ Says Till to Tweed— ‘Though ye rin with speed And I rin slaw,
“Oh where ha’e ye been, Lord Rand… And where ha’e ye been, my handsom… “I ha’e been to the wild wood: mot… For I’m wearied wi’ hunting, and… “An wha met ye there, Lord Randal…
Whan bells war rung, an mass was s… A wat a’ man to bed were gone, Clark Sanders came to Margret’s w… With mony a sad sigh and groan. “Are ye sleeping, Margret,” he sa…
SHALL I thus ever long, and be… And shall I still complain to the… Alas! say nay! say nay! and be… But open thou thy manly mouth and… Whereby my heart may think, alt…
Frankie and Johnnie were lovers, O, my Gawd, how they could love, They swore to be true to each othe… As true as the stars above; He was her man, but he done her wr…
The bells of hell go ting-a-ling-a… For you but not for me: And the little devils how they sin… For you but not for me. O death, where is thy sting-a-ling…
THIS ae nighte, this ae nighte, —Every nighte and alle, Fire and fleet and candle-lighte, And Christe receive thy saule. When thou from hence away art past…
Godfrey Gordon Gustuvus Gore The boy who’d never shut the door His Father would Plead and mother… Godfrey Gordon Please Shut the d…
There were three ravens sat on a t… They were as black as they might b… The one of them said to his mate, ‘Where shall we our breakefast tak… ‘Downe in yonder greene field,
Phyllida. CORYDON, arise, my C… Titan shineth clear. Corydon. Who is it that calleth C… Who is it that I hear? Phyl. Phyllida, thy true love, ca…
Have you ever heard the torrent of… As it curses it’s way to Vitipura… Through rapids vitriolic and catar… To it’s final foul mutterings in…
FAIN would I change that note To which fond Love hath charm’d m… Long, long to sing by rote, Fancying that that harm’d me: Yet when this thought doth come,
LOVE not me for comely grace, For my pleasing eye or face, Nor for any outward part, No, nor for a constant heart: For these may fail or turn to i…