Anonymous Olde English
Biography of Anonymous Olde English
Anonymous Olde English Poems
Edward, Edward. A Scottish Ballad
'Why does your sword so drip with blood, Edward, Edward? Why does your sword so drip with blood?
There dwelt a man in faire Westmerland Ionne Armstrong men did him call He had nither lands nor rents coming in
Beowulf (Episode 35)
'THEN he goes to his chamber, a grief-song chants alone for his lost. Too large all seems, homestead and house. So the helmet-of-Weders hid in his heart for Herebeald
Weep You No More, Sad Fountains
Weep you no more, sad fountains; What need you flow so fast? Look how the snowy mountains Heaven's sun doth gently waste.
King John And The Abbot Of Canterbury
An ancient story Ile tell you anon Of a notable prince, that was called King John; And he ruled England with maine and with might,
Bytuene Mershe and Averil When spray biginneth to springe, The lutel foul hath hire wyl
Beowulf (Episode 01)
Now Beowulf bode in the burg of the Scyldings, leader beloved, and long he ruled in fame with all folk, since his father had gone away from the world, till awoke an heir,
A Pleasant Ballad Of King Henry Ii. And ...
Part the First. Henry, our royall kind, would ride a hunting To the greene forest so pleasant and faire;
St. George And The Dragon
Of Hector's deeds did Homer sing, And of the sack of stately Troy, What griefs fair Helena did bring,
The Flower And The Leaf
When that Phebus his chaire of gold so hy Had whirled up the sterry sky aloft, And in the Bole was entred certainly;
Titus Andronicus's Complaint
You noble minds, and famous martiall wights, That in defence of native country fights,
A Praise Of His Lady
GIVE place, you ladies, and begone! Boast not yourselves at all! For here at hand approacheth one Whose face will stain you all.
The Irish Dancer
Ich am of Irlaunde, Ant of the holy londe Of Irlande.
Sumer is icumen in, Lhude sing cuccu! Groweth sed, and bloweth med, And springeth the wude nu -
Beowulf (Episode 26)
BEOWULF spake, bairn of Ecgtheow: --
"Lo, we seafarers say our will,
far-come men, that we fain would seek
Hygelac now. We here have found
hosts to our heart: thou hast harbored us well.
If ever on earth I am able to win me
more of thy love, O lord of men,
aught anew, than I now have done,
for work of war I am willing still!