His eye begets occasion for his wit;
For every object that the one doth catch
The other turns to a mirth-moving jest,
Which his fair tongue, conceit's expositor,
Delivers in such apt and gracious words,
That aged ears play truant at his tales,
And younger hearings are quite ravished,
So sweet and voluble is his discourse.
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This story will never go down.
This story will never go down.
In this spacious isle I think there is not one
But he hath heard some talk of Hood and read more
In this spacious isle I think there is not one
But he hath heard some talk of Hood and Little John,
Of Tuck, the merry friar, which many a sermon made
In praise of Robin Hood, his outlaws, and their trade.
Soft as some song divine, thy story flows.
Soft as some song divine, thy story flows.
When thou dost tell another's jest, therein
Omit the oaths, which true wit cannot need;
Pick out read more
When thou dost tell another's jest, therein
Omit the oaths, which true wit cannot need;
Pick out of tales the mirth, but not the sin.
I hate
To tell again a tale once fully told.
I hate
To tell again a tale once fully told.
Why do you laugh? Change but the name, and the story s told of
yourself.
[Lat., Quid rides?]
read more
Why do you laugh? Change but the name, and the story s told of
yourself.
[Lat., Quid rides?]
Mutato nomine de te fabula narratur.]
For seldom shall she hear a tale
So said, so tender, yet so true.
For seldom shall she hear a tale
So said, so tender, yet so true.
In after-dinner talk,
Across the walnuts and the wine.
In after-dinner talk,
Across the walnuts and the wine.
But that I am forbid
To tell the secrets of my prison house,
I could a tale read more
But that I am forbid
To tell the secrets of my prison house,
I could a tale unfold whose lightest word
Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood,
Make thy two eyes like stars start from their spheres,
Thy knotted and combined locks to part,
And each particular hair to stand on end
Like quills upon the fretful porpentine.
