Fair Susan Did Her Wif-Hede Well Menteine - In Chaucer's Style
Fair Susan did her wif-hede well menteine,
Algates assaulted sore by letchours tweine;
Now, and I read aright that auncient song,
Olde were the paramours, the dame full yong.
Had thilke same tale in other guise been tolde;
Had they been young (pardie) and she been olde,
That, by St. Kit, had wrought much sorer tryal,
Full merveillous, I wrote, were swilk denyal.
poem by Matthew Prior
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Related quotes
Beleeue Me Now I Tell It For No Tale
Beleeue me now I tell it for no tale,
There is a Queene, or else a Goddesse t'one,
That without helpe of man, or any male
Conceaueth daughters by her selfe alone:
But at their birth, be it by night or day,
Some skilfull man, the midwiues part doth play.
When they be borne, and perfectly brought foorth,
Both olde and yong doe greatly them desire;
Their beautie and their power is of such woorth,
That all mens harts, therewith are set on fire:
And in all times they beare as great a sway
As if on earth, there were no queenes but they.
poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Ancient Boar's Head Carol. In die natiuitat
Nowell, nowell, nowell, nowell,
Tydyng' gode y thyngke to telle
The borys hede that we bryng here,
Betokeneth a p'nce with owte pere,
Ys born this day to bye v' dere,
Nowell, &c.
A bore ys a souerayn beste,
And acceptable in eu'y feste,
So mote thys lorde be to moste & leste,
Nowell, &c.
This borys hede we bryng with song,
In worchyp of hym that thus sprang
Of a virgine to redresse all wrong,
Nowell, &c.
poem by Anonymous Olde English
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It Seemes That Tunis Is An Auncient Towne
It seemes that Tunis is an auncient towne
Neere to the ruines of Carthage once so prowde,
Whose stately buildings now are cleane pulled downe,
And calmde her bruit, that sounded sometime lowde:
But roome, that is their auncient far away
Doth holde, and shall, though cities all decay.
Roome is more large, then spacious Millaine faire,
Or Venice or the Tartars great Camball,
Boeams three Prages, or Egypts rich Alcaire,
Or Quinset in Cataie biggest of them all,
And more I say, after the day of doome
Hell shall be no where, vnles it be in roome.
poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Many A Man Doth Speake Of Mee
Many a man doth speake of mee,
But no man euer shall me see,
For all in one, doe full agree
That no where must my dwelling bee.
poem by Anonymous Olde English
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The Knave of Hearts
The Queen of Hearts she made some tarts all on a summer's day;
The Knave of Hearts he stole the tarts and took them clean away.
The King of Hearts called for the tarts and beat the Knave full sore
The Knave of Hearts brought back the tarts and
vowed he'd steal no more.
poem by Anonymous Olde English
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In Imitation of Chaucer
Women ben full of Ragerie,
Yet swinken not sans secresie.
Thilke Moral shall ye understond,
From Schoole-boy's Tale of fayre Irelond:
Which to the Fennes hath him betake,
To filch the gray Ducke fro the Lake.
Right then, there passen by the Way
His Aunt, and eke her Daughters tway.
Ducke in his Trowses hath he hent,
Not to be spied of Ladies gent.
'But ho! our Nephew,' (crieth one)
'Ho!' quoth another, 'Cozen John;'
And stoppen, and lough, and callen out, -
This sely Clerk full low doth lout:
They asken that, and talken this,
'Lo here is Coz, and here is Miss.'
But, as he glozeth with Speeches soote,
The Ducke sore tickleth his Erse-roote:
Fore-piece and buttons all-to-brest,
Forth thrust a white neck, and red crest.
'Te-he,' cry'd Ladies; Clerke nought spake:
Miss star'd; and gray Ducke crieth Quake.
'O Moder, Moder,' (quoth the daughter)
'Be thilke same thing Maids longer a'ter?
'Bette is to pyne on coals and chalke,
'Then trust on Mon, whose yerde can talke.'
poem by Alexander Pope
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Towneley Plays. The Shepherds' Play, II.
Primus Pastor
Haylle, comly and clene! Haylle, yong child!
Haylle, maker, as I meyne, of a madn so mylde!
Thou has waryd, I weyne the warlo so wylde;
The fals gyler of teyn, now goys he begylde.
Lo, he merys;
Lo, he laghys, my swetyng,
A wel fare metyng,
I have holden my hetyng;
Have a bob of cherys.
Secundus Pastor
Haylle, sufferan savyoure! for thou has us soght;
Haylle, frely foyde and floure that all thyng has wroght!
Haylle, full of favoure that made all of noght!
Haylle! I kneyll and I cowre. A byrd haue I broght
To my barne.
Haylle, lytylle tyne mop!
Of oure crede thou art crop;
I wold drynk on thy cop,
Lytyll day starne.
Tertius Pastor
Haylle, derlyng dere, full of godhede!
I pray the be nere when that I have nede.
Haylle! swete is thy chere! my hert wold blede
To se the sytt here in so poore wede,
With no pennys.
Haylle! put furth thy dalle!
I bryng the bot a balle:
Have a play the with-alle,
And go to the tenys.
poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Virelal
Alone walking, In thought pleyning,
And sore sighing, All desolate,
Me remembring Of my living,
My deth wishing Bothe erly and late.
Infortunate Is so my fate
That, wote ye what? Out of mesure
My lyf I hate Thus desperate;
In pore estate Do I endure.
Of other cure Am I nat sure,
Thus to endure Is hard, certain;
Such is my ure, I yow ensure;
What creature May have more pain?
My trouth so pleyn Is take in veyn,
And gret disdeyn In remembraunce;
Yet I full feyn Wold me compleyn
Me to absteyn From this penaunce.
But in substaunce Noon allegeaunce
Of my grevaunce Can I nat finde;
Right so my chaunce With displesaunce
Doth me avaunce; And thus an ende.
Explicit
poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Ice
The wave, over the wave, a weird thing I saw,
through-wrought, and wonderfully ornate:
a wonder on the wave --- water become bone.
poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Old Man So Young
Old man so young
Old tricks, new belt, old bag o’ nails
New shoes, same feet, now going flat
To me, a young man, so full of heart
An old man full of himself, just hisself
Old man so young
Old skin, new cells, old bag o’ bones
New hat, same eyes, now needing sight
To me, a young hero, rising from scarring fights
A rich man full of himself, just hisself
Old man so young
Old voice, new teeth, old bag o’ sand
New hip, same dance, soul in his veins
To me, a young baron, whose time will long reign
An epic full of himself, just hisself
030108
poem by Sylvi Sylva
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Erle Robert's Mice. In Chaucer's Style
Tway Mice, full Blythe and Amicable,
Batten beside Erle Robert's Table.
Lies there ne Trap their Necks to catch,
Ne old black Cat their Steps to watch.
Their Fill they eat of Fowl and Fish;
Feast-lyche as Heart of Mouse mote wish.
As Guests sat Jovial at the Board,
Forth leap'd our Mice: Eftsoons the Lord
Of Boling, whilome John the Saint,
Who maketh oft Propos full queint,
Laugh'd jocund, and aloud He cry'd,
To Matthew seated on t'oth' side;
To Thee, lean Bard, it doth partain
To understand these Creatures Tweine.
Come frame Us now some clean Device,
Or playsant Rhime on yonder Mice:
They seem, God shield Me, Mat. and Charles.
Bad as Sir Topaz, or 'Squire Quarles
(Matthew did for the nonce reply)
At Emblem, or Device am I:
But could I Chaunt, or Rhyme, pardie,
Clear as Dan Chaucer, or as Thee;
Ne Verse from Me (so God me shrive)
On Mouse, or other Beast alive.
Certes, I have these many Days
Sent myne Poetic Herd to graze.
Ne Armed Knight ydrad in War
With Lyon fierce will I compare:
Ne Judge unjust, with furred Fox,
Harming in Secret Guise the Flocks:
Ne Priest unworth of Goddess Coat,
To Swine ydrunk, or filthy Stoat.
Elk Similè farwell for aye,
From Elephant, I trow, to Flea.
Reply'd the friendlike Peer, I weene,
Matthew is angred on the Spleen.
Ne so, quoth Mat. ne shall be e'er,
With Wit that falleth all so fair:
Eftsoons, well weet Ye, mine Intent
Boweth to your Commaundement.
If by these Creatures Ye have seen,
Pourtrayed Charles and Matthew been;
Behoveth neet to wreck my Brain,
The rest in Order to explain.
That Cup-board, where the Mice disport,
I liken to St. Stephen's Court:
Therein is Space enough, I trow,
For elke Comrade to come and goe:
And therein eke may Both be fed
With Shiver of the Wheaten Bread.
And when, as these mine Eyen survey,
They cease to skip, and squeak, and play;
Return they may to different Cells,
Auditing One, whilst t'other Tells.
Dear Robert, quoth the Saint, whose Mind
In Bounteous Deed no Mean can bind;
Now as I hope to grow devout,
I deem this Matter well made out.
Laugh I, whilst thus I serious Pray?
Let that be wrought which Mat. doth say:
Yea, quoth the ERLE; but not to-day.
poem by Matthew Prior
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My Heart Is Full Of A Song
My heart is full of a song
that neither breathes nor lets me
neither sleeps nor lets me.
My heart is full of a song
that neither settles down in dust
nor rises up in words.
My heart is full of a song
that stands at the threshold like a sulky child
refusing to go away or be lured inside.
My heart is full of a song
and I know not whether it is happy or sad
only that I have to sing it aloud.
poem by Shipra Agarwal
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The Same Devotion
Read a song a lad wrote
In love of her beloved.
Read a song a girl wrote
In praise of her own God.
Both vibrate same passion.
In both run same devotion.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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When the Day Is White
When the day is white
Full of clouds from above
Just new from old night
With its dream full of
And your heart is young
Filled with thoughts so free
In and easy going song
That without end shall be
A love song so fine
Full of its finesses air
Drifting through sunshine
From here to everywhere
I feel you are so close
In my heartbeat you'll stay
Until everything away goes
That you and I knew today
When day becomes eve
And the white sky to red
When our day thoughts leave
And night is here instead
When we go on sleeping
And travel so far beyond
Where angels' stars are keeping
Until it becomes dawned
*(A lyric made now to my song, When the Day Is White, at Garageband.com)
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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A Shadow
I said unto myself, if I were dead,
What would befall these children? What would be
Their fate, who now are looking up to me
For help and furtherance? Their lives, I said,
Would be a volume wherein I have read
But the first chapters, and no longer see
To read the rest of their dear history,
So full of beauty and so full of dread.
Be comforted; the world is very old,
And generations pass, as they have passed,
A troop of shadows moving with the sun;
Thousands of times has the old tale been told;
The world belongs to those who come the last,
They will find hope and strength as we have done.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Full Of Life Questions
life is full of unexpected,
life is full of challenges,
life is full of bitterness,
life is full of strife,
life is full of contentious disputes,
life is full of revenge,
life is full of hatred,
life is full of mystery,
sometimes.....
life is full of sweetness,
life is full of joy,
life is full of happiness,
life is full of hope,
life is full of dreams,
you can have all this life when the soul is in body, and you will be able to feel everything because this is real life to creatures who call the''human''
Have you thought to life after death? ? ? ?
Unspoken Heart Song
Subtle notes fly upon the breeze, notes coming from a guitar of the night.
The guitar plays sweetly for its master, for its gentle master.
The master is a young man, trying to find himself.
A young man with eyes full of care, behind these fair eyes a heart full of love.
You can hear his heart’s song on the breeze, for he plays from his heart.
His eyes meet mine, and I cannot help but feel at peace, the song makes my heart hum with delight.
I can feel the love held inside him, even though he does not play for me.
He is playing the same song that plays in the heart of his darling; his song is calling to her.
“Come home, come home to me darling. I am calling you, can’t you hear me? ”
Is the unspoken song on the breeze.
poem by Tolly Rebeka Christian BlackWolf Hawk
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The poem
I wrote a poem that didn't
ryhme,
i wrote a poem that didn't ryhme to the one I love,
i wrote a poem that didn't ryhme to the one I love
more than life,
i wrote a poem that didn't ryhme to the one I love more than life,
of which she did more than like,
the poem was short,
repeated myself alot,
but the one I loved more than life,
felt that love is like the poem I wrote,
full of joy and full of hurt,
the poem I wrote when I was full of hype,
coz the one I loved more than life is the one that now fills in my life all gaps,
the one that brings me up when am down,
a smile on my face from a frown,
music to my ears when we talk,
love in my heart when I'm near,
i wrote a poem that didn't ryhme for the one I love more than life.
poem by Kennedy Musyoka
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May in the Green-Wood
In somer when the shawes be sheyne,
And leves be large and long,
Hit is full merry in feyre foreste
To here the foulys song.
To se the dere draw to the dale
And leve the hilles hee,
And shadow him in the leves grene
Under the green-wode tree.
Hit befell on Whitsontide
Early in a May mornyng,
The Soone up faire can shyne,
And the briddis mery can syng.
'This is a mery mornyng,' said Litulle Johne,
'Be Hym that dyed on tre;
A more mery man than I am one
Lyves not in Christiante.
'Pluk up thi hert, my dere mayster,'
Litulle Johne can say,
'And thynk hit is a fulle fayre tyme
In a mornynge of May.'
poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Whose Country Is This?
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of snakes;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of many waters;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of thieves! !
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of people;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of oil;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of earthquakes!
Whose country is this?
it is a land full of lovers;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of volcanoes!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of beautiful flowers;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of hansome men;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of beautiful women;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of roses;
Whose country is this?
it is a land ruled only by men;
Whose country is this?
It is a land without rainfall;
Whose country is this?
It is a land ruled by a woman;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of corruption!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of pirates! !
Whose country is this?
It is a land ruled by law;
Whose country is this?
It is a land controlled by rebels!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of ice;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of pregnant women;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of the sins of Sodom and Gomorrah!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of singers;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of troubles;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of war! !
Whose country is this?
It is a land with the biggest cemetery in the wolrd!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of desert;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of trees;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of pregnant teenagers!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of timber;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of hatred;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of love;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of care;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of peace;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of smokers!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of businesses;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of harlots;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of wise people;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of idiots!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of gold;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of cocoa;
Whose country is this?
It is a alnd full of crabs;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of evil;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of rainfalls;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of ants;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of horses;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of pigs;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of statues;
Whose country is this?
it is a land full of birds;
And so on, and so forth!
Because nature had made them so as we see them around us,
But the wise and fool live together on this earth.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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