The Waes O’ War : Or The Upshot Of The History O’ Will And Jean. In Four Parts (Hector MacNeill Poems)
PART I.Oh! that folk wad weel consider What it is to tyne a--name,What this warld is a' thegither, If bereft o' honest ...
PART I.Oh! that folk wad weel consider What it is to tyne a--name,What this warld is a' thegither, If bereft o' honest ...
Pite, that I have sought so yore agooWith herte soore and ful of besy peyne,That in this world was never ...
Oh! tell me, bonie young lassie!Oh tell me how for to woo!Oh tell me, bonie sweet lassie!Oh tell me how ...
This warld is a lottery, as ilk ane may ken;There are prizes for women as weel as for men:But as ...
I'll write, for I'm witty, a popular ditty, To bring to me shekels and fame,And the only right way one may ...
O, sprak in 't eind dit hart niet meer,Nu toch geen hart zich 't mijne wijdt!Maar toch, al mint mij ...
To drift with every peacock till my souvenirIs a stringed lyre on which all wiseacres can play,Is it for this ...
BerlijnIk heb iets bijna schoons aanschouwdHier waar de jacht der oppervlakkigheidAl schoone dingen veil voor goudBezitten wil, en dus ontwijdt-Ik ...
To MR. CLAUDE MEEKER, Columbus, Ohio. Yer honor, Jedge an' all de res' Ah rise to exkermunicate, To organize de ...
Pite, that I have sought so yore agooWith herte soore and ful of besy peyne,That in this world was never ...
Viooltjies in die voorhuis,Viooltjies blou en rooi!Viooltjies orals op die veld,En orals, ai, so mooi!Dit is die maand Oktober,die mooiste, ...
O YONGE fresshe folkes, he or she, In which that love up groweth with your age, Repeyreth hoom ...
The double 12 sorwe of Troilus to tellen, That was the king Priamus sone of Troye, In lovinge, how his ...
I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris, and he; I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three; "Good speed!" cried ...
YOUNG Jockie was the blythest lad, In a' our town or here awa; Fu' blythe he whistled at the gaud, ...
SIR, o'er a gill I gat your card, I trow it made me proud; "See wha taks notice o' the ...
NOW Robin 1 lies in his last lair, He'll gabble rhyme, nor sing nae mair; Cauld poverty, wi' hungry stare, ...
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