Legs I have got, yet seldom do I… I backbite many, yet I never talk… In secret places most I seek to h… For he who feeds me never can abid…
BALOW, my babe, lie still and sl… It grieves me sore to see thee wee… Wouldst thou be quiet I’se be gla… Thy mourning makes my sorrow sad: Balow my boy, thy mother’s joy,
I SAW my Lady weep, And Sorrow proud to be advanced s… In those fair eyes where all perfe… Her face was full of woe; But such a woe (believe me) as win…
LENTEN ys come with love to tou… With blosmen ant with briddes roun… That al this blisse bryngeth; Dayes-eyes in this dales, Notes suete of nyhtegales,
‘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 Death, O Death, rock me asleep… Bring me to quiet rest; Let pass my weary guiltless ghost Out of my careful breast. Toll on, thou passing bell;
‘O WHA will shoe my bonny foot? And wha will glove my hand? And wha will bind my middle jimp Wi’ a lang, lang linen band? ‘O wha will kame my yellow hair,
SISTER, awake! close not your e… The day her light discloses, And the bright morning doth arise Out of her bed of roses. See the clear sun, the world’s bri…
A moth, I thogh, munching a word. How marvellously weird! a worm Digesting a mans sayings - A sneakthief nibbling in the shado… At the shape of a poet’s thunderou…
The sea hath many thousand sands, The sun hath motes as many; The sky is full of stars, and Lov… As full of woes as any: Believe me, that do know the elf,
MY blood so red For thee was shed, Come home again, come home again; My own sweet heart, come home agai… You’ve gone astray
The man cut his throat and left hi… The others went to get it. When they got there they put the h… Farther on the head fell out onto… They put the head back in the sack…
My dress is silent when I tread t… Or stay at home or stir upon the w… Sometimes my trappings and the lof… Raise me above the dwelling-place… And then the power of clouds carri…
I eat my peas with honey; I’ve done it all my life. It makes the peas taste funny, But it keeps them on the knife.
O MY deir hert, young Jesus swei… Prepare thy creddil in my spreit, And I sall rock thee in my hert And never mair from thee depart. But I sall praise thee evermoir
