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Oh came you by yon water-side ?
Pou'd you the rose or lily?
Or saw you my sweet Willy ?”
She sought him east, she sought him west,
She sought him braid and narrow;
WRITTEN IN THE TOWER, THE NIGHT BEFORE HIS EXECUTION.
My prime of youth is but a frost of cares,
My feast of joy is but a dish of pain,
And all my goodes is but vain hope of gain.
My spring is past, and yet it hath not sprung,
The fruit is dead, and yet the leaves are green,
I saw the world, and yet I was not seen.
I sought for death and found it in the wombe,
I lookt for life, and yet it was a shade,
And now I die, and now I am but made.
The Ballad of Agincourt.
Fair stood the wind for France,
Longer will tarry;
Landed King Harry.
And taking many a fort,
In happy hour-
With all his power,
Which in his height of pride,
To the king sending;
Their fall portending.
And turning to his men,
Be not amazed;
By fame been raised.
Which did the signal aim
To our hid forces;
Struck the French horses,
With Spanish yew so strong,
Piercing the wether;
Stuck close together.
When down their bows they threw,
Not one was tardy:
Our men were hardy.
This while our noble king,
As to o'erwhelm it;
Bruised his helmet.
Glo'ster, that duke so good,
With his brave brother
TAKE THY OLD CLOAKE ABOUT THEE.
Clarence, in steel so bright,
Scarce such another.
Warwick in blood did wade;
Still as they ran up.
Ferrers and Fanhope.
Upon St. Crispin's day
To England to carry ;
Take thy Old Cloake about thee.
This winter weather, it waxeth cold,
And frost doth freese on every hill; And Boreas blows his blastes so cold
That all our cattell are like to spill. Bell, my wife, who loves no strife,
Shee sayd unto me quietlye, "Rise
and save cowe Crumbocke's lifeMan, put thy old cloake about thee.”
“O Bell, why dost thou flyte and scorne?
Thou kenst my cloake is very thin;