The key to friendship Is not in the hand you hold But how you hold the hand. It’s not in the tears you dry But all the reasons why.
The time when first I fell in lov… Which now I must lament; The year wherein I lost such time To compass my content. The day wherein I saw too late
YET if His Majesty, our sovereig… Should of his own accord Friendly himself invite, And say 'I’ll be your guest to-mo… How should we stir ourselves, call…
MARTIAL, the things that do att… The happy life be these, I fin… The richesse left, not got with pa… The fruitful ground, the quiet… The equal friend; no grudge, no st…
Frankie and Johnnie were lovers, O, my Gawd, how they could love, They swore to be true to each othe… As true as the stars above; He was her man, but he done her wr…
To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under… A time to be born, a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to plu… A time to kill, and a time to heal…
IT fell on a day, and a bonnie si… When green grew aits and barley… That there fell out a great disput… Between Argyll and Airlie. Argyll has raised an hunder men,
ON a time the amorous Silvy Said to her shepherd, 'Sweet, how… Kiss me this once and then God be… My sweetest dear! Kiss me this once and then God be…
Have you ever heard the torrent of… As it curses it’s way to Vitipura… Through rapids vitriolic and catar… To it’s final foul mutterings in…
There were three ravens sat on a t… They were as black as they might b… The one of them said to his mate, ‘Where shall we our breakefast tak… ‘Downe in yonder greene field,
LESTENYT, lordynges, both elde… How this rose began to sprynge; Swych a rose to myn lykynge In al this word ne knowe I non… The Aungil came fro hevene tour,
I wish I were where Helen lies; Night and day on me she cries; Oh that I were where Helen lies On fair Kirconnell lea! Curst be the heart that thought th…
He. BE it right or wrong, these m… On women do complain; Affirming this, how that it is A labour spent in vain To love them wele; for never a del…
BYTUENE Mershe ant Averil When spray biginneth to spring, The lutel foul hath hire wyl On hyre lud to synge: Ich libbe in love-longinge
God and the soldier All men adore In time of trouble, And no more; For when war is over