Dialect of Craven, in the Westriding of the County of York: With a Copious Glossary, Illus. by Authorities from Ancient English & Scottish Writers, & Exemplified by Two Familiar Dialogues, Volume 1

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Crofts, 1828 - 359 pagine
 

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Pagina 285 - ST. Swithin's day if thou dost rain, For forty days it will remain : St. Swithin's day if thou be fair, For forty days 'twill rain na mair.
Pagina 221 - tis a lie, I am not ague-proof. Glo. The trick of that voice I do well remember : Is't not the king ? Lear. Ay, every inch a king : When I do stare, see, how the subject quakes.
Pagina 100 - And ye shall take a bunch of hyssop, and dip it in the blood that is in the basin...
Pagina 204 - UPON a simmer Sunday morn, When Nature's face is fair, I walked forth to view the corn, An' snuff the caller air. The rising sun, owre Galston muirs, Wi' glorious light was glintin ; The hares were hirplin down the furs, The lav'rocks they were chantin Fu
Pagina 242 - There were the ware of a wight yeoman, His body leaned to a tree. A sword and a dagger he wore by his side, Of manye a man the bane ; And he was clad in his capull hyde Topp and tayll and mayne. Stand you still, master...
Pagina 80 - Her cutty sark, o' Paisley harn, That while a lassie she had worn, In longitude tho' sorely scanty, It was her best, and she was vauntie. — Ah ! little kend thy reverend grannie, That sark she coft for her wee Nannie, Wi...
Pagina 297 - Tam, had'st thou but been sae wise, As taen thy ain wife Kate's advice! She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum, A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum That frae November till October, Ae market-day thou was nae sober; That ilka melder wi...
Pagina 81 - Ladybird, Ladybird, fly away home, Your house is on fire, your children will burn.
Pagina 109 - tis not done: the attempt and not the deed Confounds us. Hark! I laid their daggers ready; He could not miss 'em. Had he not resembled My father as he slept, I had done't.
Pagina 161 - my sight soon mayst thou be! I grantit nevir a traitor's life, And now I'll not begin wi' thee!' 'Grant me my life, my liege, my King! And a bonny gift I'll gie to thee Gude four-and-twenty ganging mills, That gang thro ' a

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