Unattributed Author

I, Phoebus, sang those songs that gained so much renown
I, Phoebus, sang them; Homer only wrote them down.

I, Phoebus, sang those songs that gained so much renown
I, Phoebus, sang them; Homer only wrote them down.

Go thou, deceased, to this earth which is a mother, and spacious
and kind. May her touch be soft read more

Go thou, deceased, to this earth which is a mother, and spacious
and kind. May her touch be soft like that of wool, or a young
woman, and may she protect thee from the depths of destruction.
Rise above him, O Earth, do not press painfully on him, give him
good things, give him consolation, as a mother covers her child
with her cloth, cover thou him.

. . . his master was in a manner always in a wrong Boxe and building
castels in the read more

. . . his master was in a manner always in a wrong Boxe and building
castels in the ayre or catching Hares with Tabers.

This Booke
When Brasse and Marble fade, shall make thee looke
Fresh to all Ages.

This Booke
When Brasse and Marble fade, shall make thee looke
Fresh to all Ages.

Wode has erys, felde has sigt.

Wode has erys, felde has sigt.