Citatepedia^®.com

The Tale of Gamelyn

Fitt 1

Lithes and listneth and harkeneth aright,
And ye shul here of a doughty knyght;
Sire John of Boundes was his name,
He coude of norture and of mochel game.
Thre sones the knyght had and with his body he wan,
The eldest was a moche schrewe and sone bygan.
His brether loved wel her fader and of hym were agast,
The eldest deserved his faders curs and had it atte last.
The good knight his fadere lyved so yore,
That deth was comen hym to and handled hym ful sore.
The good knyght cared sore sik ther he lay,
How his children shuld lyven after his day.
He had bene wide where but non husbonde he was,
Al the londe that he had it was purchas.
Fayn he wold it were dressed amonge hem alle,
That eche of hem had his parte as it myght falle.
Thoo sente he in to contrey after wise knyghtes
To helpen delen his londes and dressen hem to-rightes.

[...] Read more

poem by Anonymous Olde English
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Brother Love's Traveling Salvation SHow

Hot August night and the leaves hanging down
and the grass on the ground smellin' sweet
Move up the road to the outside of town
and the sound of that good gospel beat
Sits a ragged tent where there ain't no trees
And that gospel group tellin' you and me
It's Love Brother Love say Brother Love's traveling salvation show
Pack up the babies and grab the old ladies and everyone goes
'Cause everyone knows Brother Love's show
Room gets suddenly still and when you'd almost bet
You could hear yourself sweat he walks in
Eyes black as coal and when he lifts his face
Every ear in the place is on him
Startin' soft and slow like a small earthquake
And when he lets go half the valley shakes
It's Love, Brother Love say Brother Loves traveling salvation show
Pack up the babies and grab the old ladies and everyone goes
'Cause everyone knows 'bout Brother Loves show
(Halleluja) Brothers (Halle, halleluja) I say brothers
Now you got yourself two good hands

[...] Read more

song performed by Neil Diamond
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Athelston

Lord that is off myghtys most,
Fadyr and Sone and Holy Gost,
Bryng us out of synne
And lene us grace so for to wyrke
To love bothe God and Holy Kyrke
That we may hevene wynne.
Lystnes, lordyngys, that ben hende,
Of falsnesse, hou it wil ende
A man that ledes hym therin.
Of foure weddyd bretheryn I wole yow tell
That wolden yn Yngelond go dwel,
That sybbe were nought of kyn.

And all foure messangeres they were,
That wolden yn Yngelond lettrys bere,
As it wes here kynde.
By a forest gan they mete
With a cros, stood in a strete
Be leff undyr a lynde,
And, as the story telles me,

[...] Read more

poem by Anonymous Olde English
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Brother Loves Travelling Salvation Show

Written by: neil diamond
Hot august night
And the leaves hanging down
And the grass on the ground smelling sweet
Move up the road
To the outside of town
And the sound of that good gospel beat
Sits a ragged tent
Where there aint no trees
And that gospel group
Telling you and me
Its love, love
Brother loves travelling salvation show
Pack up the babies
Grab the old ladies
Everyone goes
Everyone knows
Brother loves show
Room gets suddenly still
And when youd almost bet

[...] Read more

song performed by Neil Diamond
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Cumnor Hall

The dews of summer nighte did falle,
The moone (sweete regente of the skye)
Silver'd the walles of Cumnor Halle,
And manye an oake that grewe therebye.

Nowe noughte was hearde beneath the skies,
(The soundes of busye lyfe were stille,)
Save an unhappie ladie's sighes,
That issued from that lonelye pile.

"Leicester," shee cried, "is thys thy love
That thou so oft has sworne to mee
To leave mee in thys lonelye grove,
Immurr'd in shameful privitie?

"No more thou com'st with lover's speede,
Thy once-beloved bryde to see;
But bee shee alive, or bee shee deade,
I feare (sterne earle's) the same to thee.

[...] Read more

poem by William Mickle
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

King Estmere

Hearken to me, gentlemen,
Come and you shall heare;
He tell you of two of the boldest brethren,
That ever born y-were.

The tone of them as Adler yonge,
The tother was Kyng Estmere;
The were as bolde men in their deedes,
As any were, farr and neare.

As they were drinking ale and wine
Within Kyng Estmeres halle:
'When will ye marry a wyfe, brother,
A wyfe to gladd us all?'

Then bespake him Kyng Estmere,
And answered him hatilee
'I know not that ladye in any lande,
That is able to marry with mee.'

[...] Read more

poem by Anonymous Olde English
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

St. Stephen And Herod

Seynt Stevene was a clerk in Kyng Herowd{.e}s halle,
And servyd him of bred and cloth, as every kyng befalle.

Stevyn out of kechone cam, wyth boris hed on honde;
He saw a sterre was fayr and bryght over Bedlem stonde.

He kyst adoun the boris hed and went in to the halle:
'I forsak the, Kyng Herowd{.e}s, and thi werkes all{.e}.'

'I forsak the, Kyng Herowd{.e}s, and thi werkes alle;
Ther is a chyld in Bedlem born is beter than we alle.'

'Quat eylyt the, Stevene? quat is the befall{.e}?
Lakkyt the eyther mete or drynk in Kyng Herowdes halle?'

'Lakit me neyther mete ne drynk in Kyng Herowd{.e}s halle;
Ther is a chyld in Bedlem born is beter than we alle.'

'Quat eylyt the, Stevyn? Art thu wod, or thu gynnyst to brede?
Lakkyt the eyther gold or fe, or ony ryche wed{.e}?'

[...] Read more

poem by Anonymous Americas
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

En lille Flugt til Rom den 8 Marts 1835

1
Fra Nord, hvor Taagen skygger,
Hvor Vinterkulden trykker,
Bort til Italia!
Vi Tydskland let kan glemme,
Saa smukt har vi det Hjemme,
Og flyve dog derfra!
Hallo, halla, hallo, halla!
Ned til Italia!

2
De høie Alper vige,
Vi ned paa Sletten stige
Til Sang og Blomster-Duft.
Blandt Myrter Hjorden græsser,
See Pinier og Cypresser! -
Vi aande Sydens Luft!
Hallo, hallo, hallo! hallo!
Den Luft gjør Hjertet fro!

[...] Read more

poem by Hans Christian Andersen
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Vision Of Piers Plowman - Part 04

' Cesseth!' seide the Kyng, ' I suffre yow no lenger.
Ye shul saughtne, forsothe, and serve me bothe.
Kis hire,' quod the Kyng, 'Conscience, I hote!'
' Nay, by Crist!' quod Conscience, ' congeye me rather!
But Reson rede me therto, rather wol I deye.'
'And I comaunde thee,' quod the Kyng to Conseience thanne,
'Rape thee to ryde, and Reson that thow fecche.
Comaunde hym that he come my counseil to here,
For he shal rule my reaume and rede me the beste
Mede and of mo othere, what man shal hire wedde,

And acounte with thee, Conscience, so me Crist helpe,
How thow lernest the peple, the lered and the lewed!'
'I am fayn of that foreward,' seide the freke thanne,
And ryt right to Reson and rouneth in his ere,
And seide hym as the Kyng seide, and sithen took his leve.
'I shal arraye me to ryde,' quod Reson,-reste thee a while,'
And called Caton his knave, curteis of speche,
And also Tomme Trewe-tonge-tel-me-no-tales
Ne lesynge-to-laughen-of-for-I-loved-hem-nevere.

[...] Read more

poem by William Langland
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Avowyng of Arthur

He that made us on the mulde,
And fair fourmet the folde,
Atte His will, as He wold,
The see and the sande,
Giffe hom joy that will here
Of dughti men and of dere,
Of haldurs that before us were,
That lifd in this londe.
One was Arther the Kinge,
Wythowtun any letting;
Wyth him was mony lordinge
Hardi of honde.
Wice and war ofte thay were,
Bold undur banere,
And wighte weppuns wold were,
And stifly wold stond.

This is no fantum ne no fabull;
Ye wote wele of the Rowun Tabull,
Of prest men and priveabull,

[...] Read more

poem by Anonymous Olde English
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!