A recklesse lout sate onne a walle, Where rode a knyghte beneathe; He mocke the ye magpye's cherry calle By y-whustlinge throe hys teethe. Ye sounde smote sweete ye knyghte hys eare, Ynd didde hys hearte enthralle With thoughts of home ynd childrene deare Ynd mayde ye teare to-falle. "Thy simple songe, oh gentyle pye, Doth touch my soule," he cryde; "It is no pye -- pardie, 'tis I!" Exclomb ye lout with pryde. Thusse rude awakkened fromme hys trance, Ye knyghte with angrye shoute, Didde brak his lance upon ye pants Of yt ille-mannyrd lout. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MY SWEET BROWN GAL by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR SATIRES OF CIRCUMSTANCE: 14. OVER THE COFFIN by THOMAS HARDY ODE TO LUDLOW CASTLE by LUCY AIKEN QUATRAIN: FROM EASTERN SOURCES: 2 by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH EPIGRAM by DECIMUS MAGNUS AUSONIUS CARPE DIEM by JEAN ANTOINE DE BAIF RUSTIC CHILDHOOD by WILLIAM BARNES |