The Royal Minstrel: Or, Melodist's Pocket Songster; a Choice Collection of Standard and Popular SongsJ.S. Pratt, 1844 - 320 pages |
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Page 8
... pretty little boy 48 ib . 50 52 Oh ! slumber my darling , thy sire is a knight ib . Scots wha hae wi ' Wallace bled There was an Irish lad .. .. Hark , the loud tuning horn bids the sports- men .. .. 53 54 .. 55 56 ib . .. 57 Here awa ...
... pretty little boy 48 ib . 50 52 Oh ! slumber my darling , thy sire is a knight ib . Scots wha hae wi ' Wallace bled There was an Irish lad .. .. Hark , the loud tuning horn bids the sports- men .. .. 53 54 .. 55 56 ib . .. 57 Here awa ...
Page 38
... pretty Polly . Our little bark , by valour fraught , Soon met the foe , and laurels won , Sir ! Inspired by love alone I fought , And gain'd fresh courage at my gun , Sir ! Our captain's praise unmov'd I heard , Thought all the victor's ...
... pretty Polly . Our little bark , by valour fraught , Soon met the foe , and laurels won , Sir ! Inspired by love alone I fought , And gain'd fresh courage at my gun , Sir ! Our captain's praise unmov'd I heard , Thought all the victor's ...
Page 43
... . Jack Junk , an old messmate , arriv'd from on board , With a hatful of these pretty shiners ; You'd have swore if you had but have seen his MINISTREL . 43 Gin a body meet a body In an old leathern purse a true friend I have.
... . Jack Junk , an old messmate , arriv'd from on board , With a hatful of these pretty shiners ; You'd have swore if you had but have seen his MINISTREL . 43 Gin a body meet a body In an old leathern purse a true friend I have.
Page 50
... pretty little boy , A young merchantman so gay , With my lollipops and toys , Of Duke's place I bore the sway . The pretty little maidens , With their pretty little smile , Dey stole my little heart , For my senses they beguile . Spoken ...
... pretty little boy , A young merchantman so gay , With my lollipops and toys , Of Duke's place I bore the sway . The pretty little maidens , With their pretty little smile , Dey stole my little heart , For my senses they beguile . Spoken ...
Page 68
... pretty tail of my tillage : I know little of law , so my wife , that the best is , Does the law part while I manufacture the justice : All should live by their trade , or it isn't fair dealing ; And it's just out of mine that I should ...
... pretty tail of my tillage : I know little of law , so my wife , that the best is , Does the law part while I manufacture the justice : All should live by their trade , or it isn't fair dealing ; And it's just out of mine that I should ...
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Autres éditions - Tout afficher
The Royal Minstrel: Or, Melodist's Pocket Songster: a Choice Collection of ... Affichage du livre entier - 1848 |
Expressions et termes fréquents
Adieu Bay of Biscay beauty blest blooming blow body kiss bonny bosom brave breast breath bright Brown Bess Captain charms cheek cheer Crazy Jane cried dear delight Derry drink e'er fair flower Fol deriddle lol friends gale gallant girl grog hark heart heaven Heigh Invermay John Anderson jolly kiss lady lark lass lassie life's live lov'd lover maid Mary merry mild ale Miss Rum Molly Malone morn ne'er never night o'er pleasure poor POST CAPTAIN pretty Rag Fair rest thee ring roar rose round Rum tum diddle-um sail sailors shore sigh sing sleep smile soft song soon sorrow soul storm sure sweet sweetly tears tell there's thou thought tis love Tol de rol true Twas twill vex'd whistle wife wind wine young youth
Fréquemment cités
Page 24 - John Anderson my jo. John Anderson my jo, John, We clamb the hill thegither ; And mony a canty day, John, We've had wi' ane anither : Now we maun totter down, John, But hand in hand we'll go, And sleep thegither at the foot, John Anderson my jo.
Page 304 - By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Not in sheet nor in shroud we wound him; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him.
Page 28 - OUR band is few but true and tried, Our leader frank and bold ; The British soldier trembles When Marion's name is told. Our fortress is the good greenwood, Our tent the cypress-tree ; We know the forest round us, As seamen know the sea.
Page 62 - They name thee before me, A knell to mine ear; A shudder comes o'er me — Why wert thou so dear ? They know not I knew thee, Who knew thee too well: — Long, long shall I rue thee, Too deeply to tell.
Page 186 - O' my sweet Highland Mary. How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk, How rich the hawthorn's blossom, As underneath their fragrant shade I clasp'd her to my bosom ! The golden hours on angel wings Flew o'er me and my dearie; For dear to me as light and life Was my sweet Highland Mary. Wi' mony a vow and lock'd embrace Our parting was fu' tender; And pledging aft to meet again, We tore oursels asunder; But, Oh!
Page 71 - Of all the girls that are so smart There's none like pretty Sally ; She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. There is no lady in the land Is half so sweet as Sally ; She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley.
Page 167 - The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands. And quick as lightning on the deck he stands. So the sweet lark, high poised in air. Shuts close his pinions to his breast (If, chance, his mate's shrill call he hear), And drops at once into her nest. The noblest captain in the British fleet Might envy William's lip those kisses sweet.
Page 63 - They know not I knew thee Who knew thee too well: Long, long shall I rue thee Too deeply to tell. In secret we met: In silence I grieve That thy heart could forget, Thy spirit deceive. If I should meet thee After long years, How should I greet thee ?— With silence and tears.
Page 29 - Then sweet the hour that brings release From danger and from toil; We talk the battle over, And share the battle's spoil. The woodland rings with laugh and shout, As if a hunt were up, And woodland flowers are gathered To crown the soldier's cup.
Page 304 - We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed, And smoothed down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, And we far away on the billow ! Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him ; But little hell reck if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him...