LESTENYT, lordynges, both elde… How this rose began to sprynge; Swych a rose to myn lykynge    In al this word ne knowe I non… The Aungil came fro hevene tour,

Said Santa Claus One winter’s night, ‘€˜I really think it’s only right That gifts should have a little sa… ‘€˜Bout where they’ll be on Chris…

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under… A time to be born, a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to plu… A time to kill, and a time to heal…

ICHOT a burde in boure bryht, That fully semly is on syht, Menskful maiden of myht;    Feir ant fre to fonde; In al this wurhliche won

If you evah go to Houston, You better walk right; You better not gamble And you better not fight. T. Bentley will arrest you,

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…

I went to a party, Mom, I remembered what you said. You told me not to drink, Mom, So I drank soda instead. I really felt proud inside, Mom,

He. BE it right or wrong, these m…    On women do complain; Affirming this, how that it is    A labour spent in vain To love them wele; for never a del…

The following Epilogue to 'The Padlock’ was written by a very worthy Clergyman, soon after the first representation of that opera. The author of this little poem died in the Summer of 1...

My one, the sister without peer, The handsomest of all! She looks like the rising morning… At the start of a happy year. Shining bright, fair of skin,

HIERUSALEM, my happy home,    When shall I come to thee? When shall my sorrows have an end,    Thy joys when shall I see? O happy harbour of the Saints!

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!

IN somer when the shawes be sheyn…    And leves be large and long, Hit is full merry in feyre foreste    To here the foulys song. To se the dere draw to the dale

‘Oh, you must answer my questions… Sing ninety-nine and ninety, Or you’re not God’s, you’re one o… And you are the weaver’s bonny.’ ‘What is whiter than the milk?

O WALY, waly, up the bank,    And waly, waly, doun the brae, And waly, waly, yon burn-side,    Where I and my Love wont to ga… I lean’d my back unto an aik,