Men are fools that wish to die!
Is ‘t not fine to dance and sing
When the bells of death do ring?
Is ‘t not fine to swim in wine,
And turn upon the toe,
And sing hey nonny no!
When the winds blow and the seas flow?
Hey nonny no!
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Gil Morrice was an erles son,
It was nae for his great riches,Nor zet was mickle pride;Bot it was for a lady gay,That livd on Carron side.‘Quhair sall I get a bonny boy,That will win hose and shoen;That will gae to Lord Barnard’s ha’,And bid his lady cum?And ze maun rin my errand, Willie,And ze may rin wi’ pride;Quhen other boys…
It feel about the Lammas tide,
The doughty Douglas bound him to rideInto England, to drive a prey.He chose the Gordons and the Graemes,With them the Lindesays, light and gay;But the Jardines wald not with him ride,And they rue it to this day.And he has burned the dales of Tyne,And part of Bambrough shire,And three good towers on Reidswire fells,He left…
I
Luxuriantly budding my pride and joy!I will put before the lord of Macreu,That on Wednesday, in the valley of MachawyBlood will flow.Lloegyr’s (England’s) blades will shine.But hear, O little pig! on ThursdayThe Cymry will rejoyceIn their defence of Cymimawd,Furiously cutting and thrusting.The Saesons (Saxons) will be slaughtered by our ashen spears,And their heads used as…
Part the First
To sing a song I will beginne:It is of a lord of faire Scotland,Which was the unthrifty heire of Linne.His father was a right good lord,His mother a lady of high degree;But they, alas! were dead, him froe,And he lov’d keeping companie.To spend the daye with merry cheare,To drinke and revell every night,To card and…
THUS seethed unceasing the son of Healfdene
assuaged his sorrow; too sore the anguish,loathly and long, that lay on his folk,most baneful of burdens and bales of the night.This heard in his home Hygelac’s thane,great among Geats, of Grendel’s doings.He was the mightiest man of valorin that same day of this our life,stalwart and stately. A stout wave-walkerhe bade make ready. Yon…
O my deir hert, young Jesus sweit,
And I sall rock thee in my hertAnd never mair from thee depart.But I sall praise thee evermoirWith sangis sweit unto thy gloir;The knees of my hert sall I bow,And sing that richtBalulalow!