2009, ISBN: 1458978869, Lieferbar binnen 4-6 Wochen

Internationaler Buchtitel. In englischer Sprache. Verlag: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 738 Seiten, L=152mm, B=229mm, H=41mm, Gew.=1066gr, Kartoniert/Broschiert, Klappentext: Purchase of… Altro …

Internationaler Buchtitel. In englischer Sprache. Verlag: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 738 Seiten, L=152mm, B=229mm, H=41mm, Gew.=1066gr, Kartoniert/Broschiert, Klappentext: Purchase of this book includes free trial access to www.million-books.com where you can read more than a million books for free. This is an OCR edition with typos. Excerpt from book: No frost nor snow, no wind, I trow. Can hurt me if I wold; I am so wrapped and thoroughly lapped Of jolly good ale and old. And Tib, my wife, that as her life Loveth well good ale to seek, Full oft drinks she till ye may see The tears run down her cheek: Then doth she trowl to me the bowl Even as a maltworm should, And saith, "Sweetheart, I took my part Of this jolly good ale and old." Now let them drink till they nod and wink, Even as good fellows should do; They shall not miss to have the bliss Good ale doth bring men to; And all poor souls that have scoured bowls Or have them lustily trolled, God save the lives of them and their wives, Whether they be young or old. Back and side go bare, go bare; Both foot and hand go cold; But, belly, God send thee good ale enough, Whether it be new or old. NICOLAS BRETON (1545?-1626?) /f Cradle Song OME little babe, come silly soul, Thy father's shame, thy mother's grief, Born as I doubt to all our dole, And to thyself unhappy chief: Sing lullaby, and lap it warm, Poor soul that thinks no creature harm. Thou little think'st and less dost know The cause of this thy mother's moan; Thou want'st the wit to wail her woe, And I myself am all alone: Why dost thou weep? why dost thou wail? And know'st not yet what thou dost ail. Come, little wretch?ah, silly heart! Mine only joy, what can I more? If there be any wrong thy smart, That may the destinies implore: 'Twas I, I say, against my will, I wail the time, but be thou still. And dost thou smile? O, thy sweet face ! Would God Himself He might thee see !? No doubt thou wouldst soon purchase grace, I know right well, for thee and me: But come to mother, babe, and play, For father false is fled away. Sweet boy, if it by fort...<