Was andere dazu sagen - Rezension schreiben
Es wurden keine Rezensionen gefunden.
Andere Ausgaben - Alle anzeigen
ageyn anoon beauté Bialacoil blame chere clere Daunger dede dere deth doth doun drede evere faire falle folk freend fulle fynde grace grene gret grete hadde harme hast hath heere helpe herte holde honde hope iwys kepe knewe knowe lady laste late leve lovers lust lyve maist makith maner mote myght myn herte never noon nought nygh nyght ofte peyne pleyne rede riche richesse rose Ryght sawe seide sene servise sette seyn shal shame shulde Sith sore soth swete Thanne thee ther therfore thilke thing thou shalt thought thurgh thyng trewe trouthe trowe tyme unto Venus wele wente whan Whanne who-so wight wise withoute withouten wolde wole wote wrought yeve
Seite 294 - For whiche un-to your mercy thus I crye: Beth hevy ageyn, or elles mot I dye!
Seite 304 - Upon my trouth I sey yow feithfully, That ye ben of my liffe and deth the quene ; For with my deth the trouth shal be sene. Youre two eyn, &c. II. 1. So hath youre beauty fro your herte chased Pitee, that me n' availeth not to pleyn : For daunger halt your mercy in his cheyne.
Seite 3 - Hard is the hert that loveth nought In May, whan al this mirth is wrought ; Whan he may on these braunches here...
Seite 35 - The stoon so clere was and so bright, That also soone as it was nyght, Men myght[e] seen to go for nede A myle or two in lengthe and brede.
Seite 37 - For she right there hadde in present Unto a lady maad present Of a gold broche, ful wel «/-wrought. And certys it myssatte hir nought; For thorough hir smokke wrought with silk, The flesh was seen as white as mylk.
Seite 266 - So as my troubled wit may hit atteyne, I wol reherse; not for to have redresse, But to declare my ground of hevynesse.
Seite 4 - Joly and gay, ful of gladnesse, Toward a ryver gan I me dresse, That I herd renne faste by ; For fairer playing non saugh I Than playen me by that ryvere, For from an hille that stood ther nere, Cam doun the...
Seite 305 - Sin I fro Love escaped am so fat, 1 never thenk to ben in his prison lene. Love hath my name y-strike out of his sclat, And he is strike out of my bokes clene For ever-mo; ther is non other mene.
Seite 17 - Til atte last bithought I me, That by no weye ne myght it be, That ther nas laddre or wey to passe, Or hole, into so faire a place. Tho gan I go a...