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Alyke auld baith bayth befoir Beltane blude Chrystis kirk Courage dois doun Dreid dryve ev'ry evir faid fair fall fame fang fcho firft flain flicht frae furth fyre gaif grene grit gude haif Haill hairt hald hame hand hard haue heart heid heir honour ilka king knaw lise Lord luve lyke maid mair Makyne maun meit mekle micht mony muse mynd myne nane ne'er neir nevir nocht o'er owre Peblis perril Phebus play Quha quhair Quhat Quhen Quhilk Quhois Quhy Quhyle quod Experience Quoth richt Robene scho seir sields Sir Penny sirst stude suld Syne thair thame thare Thay thee thine thing thocht thou thoufand thow throw trew trow tyme uther vpon wald weill wyfe wyffe Yles zour
Page 142 - Strew'd with death's spoils, the spoils of animals, Savage and tame, and full of dead men's bones? The very turf on which we tread once liv'd ; And we that live must lend our carcasses To cover our own offspring : in their turns They too must cover theirs.
Page 144 - Well do I know thee by thy trusty yew, Cheerless, unsocial plant ; that loves to dwell 'Midst skulls and coffins, epitaphs and worms: Where light-heel'd ghosts, and visionary shades, Beneath the wan cold moon (as fame reports) Embodied, thick, perform their mystic rounds. No other merriment, dull tree, is thine.
Page 104 - But, Sacred Saviour, with thy words I woo Thee to forgive, and not be bitter to Such as thou know'st do not know what they do.
Page 157 - Now, Spring returns ; but not to me returns The vernal joy my better years have known ; Dim in my breast life's dying taper burns, And all the joys of life with health are flown.
Page 158 - Farewell, ye blooming fields ! ye cheerful plains ! Enough for me the church-yard's lonely mound, Where Melancholy with still Silence reigns, And the rank grass waves o'er the cheerless ground.
Page 155 - Wild shrieks have issued from the hollow tombs : Dead men have come again, and walk'd about ; And the great bell has toll'd, unrung, untouch'd. (Such tales their cheer at wake or gossiping, When it draws near to witching time of night...
Page 152 - Sure the last end Of the good man is peace. How calm his exit ! Night-dews fall not more gently to the ground, Nor weary worn-out winds expire so soft.
Page 144 - midst the wreck of things which were; There lie interr'd the more illustrious dead. The wind is up: hark ! how it howls ! Methinks Till now, I never heard a sound so dreary...
Page 158 - I see the muddy wave, the dreary shore, The sluggish streams that slowly creep below, Which mortals visit, and return no more. Farewell, ye blooming fields ! ye cheerful plains!