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The book of ballads [by sir T. Martin and W.E. Aytoun] ed. by Bon Gaultier
sir Theodore Martin
Visualização integral - 1861
auld Author bard bays bear beautiful bell beneath beside better blow bore bosom bound breath bring brow cheek cloth comes cousin cried dare dark daughter dead dear death door Engravings eyes face fear feel fell field fight flowers gilt give glance green grew half hand hath head hear heard heart hour hundred Illustrations King kiss lady Laureate Laureate's light lips lists look Lord loud maiden minstrel mother never night noble o'er once pass play Prince Queen rest ring rose round royal sang seek seen side sing smoke song soul sound stand steel stood sure sweet tell thee thing thou thought Till warrior wine young
Página 93 - I hear the singing of a lot of favourite tunes — Bless my heart, how very odd! Why, surely there's a brace of moons! See! the stars! how bright they twinkle, winking with a frosty glare, Like my faithless cousin Amy when she drove me to despair. Oh, my cousin, spider-hearted! Oh, my Amy! No, confound it! I must wear the mournful willow, — all around my heart I've bound it.
Página 94 - ... hookah, — something less than his cayenne. What is this? His eyes are pinky. Was't the claret? Oh, no, no, — Bless your soul, it was the salmon, — salmon always makes him so. Take him to thy dainty chamber — soothe him with thy lightest fancies, He will understand thee, won't he? — pay thee with a lover's glances? Louder than the loudest trumpet, harsh as harshest ophicleide, Nasal respirations answer the endearments of his bride. Sweet response, delightful music! Gaze upon thy noble...
Página 147 - d do like me When I was young and strong; I formed a passion every week, But never kept it long. But he has not the sportive mood That always rescued me, And so I would all women could Be banished o'er the sea. For 'tis the most egregious bore, Of all the bores I know, To have a friend who's lost his heart A short time ago.
Página 72 - He said that I was proud, mother, — that I looked for rank and gold ; He said I did not love him, — he said my words were cold ; He said I kept him off and on, in hopes of higher game, — And it may be that I did, mother, but who hasn't done the same? I did not know my heart, mother, — I know it now too late ; I thought that I without a pang could wed some nobler mate ; But no nobler suitor sought me, — and he has taken wing. And my heart is gone, and I am left a lone and blighted thing.
Página 201 - That links thy heart with mine,I know my soul's emotion Is doubly felt by thine: And deem not that a shadow Hath fallen across my love: No, sweet, my love is shadowless, As yonder heaven above. These little taper fingers — Ah, Jane! how white they be! — Can well supply the cruel want That almost maddens me. Thou wilt not sure deny me My first and fond request; I pray thee, by the memory Of all we cherish best — By all the dear remembrance Of those delicious days, When, hand in hand, we wandered...
Página 167 - With thoughts like these her mind is cross'd : The dame, they say, who doubts, is lost. " But then the risk ? I '11 beg a slice Of Father Raulin's good advice." Prankt in her best, with looks demure, She seeks the priest; and, to be sure, Asks if he thinks she ought to wed : " With such a business on my head, I 'm worried off my legs with care, And need some help to keep things square.
Página 96 - em. Womankind no more shall vex me, such at least as go arrayed In the most expensive satins and the newest silk brocade. I '11 to Afric, lion-haunted, where the giant forest yields Rarer robes and finer tissue than are sold at Spitalfields. Or to burst all chains of habit, flinging habit's self aside, I shall walk the tangled jungle in mankind's primeval pride; Feeding on the luscious berries and the rich cassava root, Lots of dates, and lots of guavas, clusters of forbidden fruit. Never comes the...
Página 124 - T was thus the cry began, And straightway every garret-roof gave up its minstrel man ; From Grub Street, and from Houndsditch, and from Farringdon Within, The poets all towards Whitehall poured on with eldritch din. " Loud yelled they for Sir James the Graham ; but sore afraid was he ; A hardy knight were he that might face such a minstrelsie. ' Now by St. Giles of Netherby, my patron Saint, I swear, I'd rather by a thousand crowns Lord Palmerston were here ! — "' What is 't ye seek, ye rebel knaves...
Página 98 - WANTED — By a bard, in wedlock, some young interesting woman: Looks are not so much an object, if the shiners be forthcoming! "Hymen's chains the advertiser vows shall be but silken fetters; Please address to AT, Chelsea. NB — You must pay the letters.