Lyrics for annotation

These are lyrics for the annotation exercises.

I have a gentil cok (Lyric 77)

I have a gentil cok,
Croweth me day;
He doth me risen erly,
My matins for to say.

I have a gentil cok,
Comen he is of gret;
His comb is of red corel,
His tayel is of jet.

I have a gentil cok,
Comen he is of kinde;
His comb is of red corel,
His tail is of inde.

His legges ben of astor,
So gentil and so smale;
His spores am of silver white,
Into the worte-wale.

His eyen arn of cristal,
Loken all in aumber;
And every night he perceth him
In my ladyes chaumber.


I have a newe gardin (Lyric 78)

I have a newe gardin,
And newe is begunne;
Swich another gardin
Know I not under sunne.

In the middis of my gardin
Is a peryr set,
And it wele non per bern
But a per Jenet.

The fairest maide of this town
Preyed me
For to griffen her a grif
Of min pery tree.

When I hadde hem griffed
Alle at her wille,
The win and the ale
She dede in fille.

And I griffed her
Right up in her home;
And be that day twenty wowkes,
It was quik in her womb.

That day twelfus month,
That maide I mette:
She seid it was a per Robert,
But non per Jonet!


The Levedy Fortune (Lyric 8)

The Levedy Fortune is bothe frend and fo:
Of pore she maketh riche, of riche pore also.
She turneth wo all into wele, and wele all into wo;
No triste no man to this wele, the whel it turnet so.


Upon a lady (Lyric 188)

Upon a lady my love is lente,
Withoutene change of any chere —
That is lovely and continent
And most at my desire.

This lady is in my herte pight;
Her to love I have gret haste.
With all my power and my might
To her I make mine hert stedfaste.

Therfor will I non other spouse
Ner none other loves, for to take;
But only to her I make my vowes,
And all other to forsake.

This lady is gentill and meke,
Moder she is and well of all;
She is never for to seke,
Nother too grete ner too small.

Redy she is night and day,
To man and wommon and childe infere,
If that they will aught to her say,
Our prayeres mekely for to here.

To serve this lady we all be bounde
Both night and day in every place,
Where ever we be, in felde or towne,
Or elles in any other place.

Pray we to this lady bright,
In the worship of the Trinite,
To bringe us alle to heven light.
Amen say we, for charite.


A God and yet a man? (Lyric 197)

A God and yet a man?
A maide and yet a mother?
Wit wonders what wit can
Conceave: this, or the other?

A God—and can he die?
A dead man—can he live?
What wit can well replie?
What reason reason give?

God, Truth itselfe doth teach it.
Mans wit senckes too far under,
By reasons power, to reach it.
Beleeve and leave to wonder!


Fleumaticus (Lyric 112)

Sluggy and slowe, in spetinge muiche,
Cold and moist, my natur is suche;
Dull of wit, and fat, or contenaunce strange,
Fleumatike, this complecion may not change.

Deliberal I am, lovinge and gladde,
Laghinge and playinge, full seld I am sad;
Singinge, full fair of colour, bold to fight,
Hote and moist, beninge, sanguine I hight.

I am sad and solyenge with heviness in thoght;
I covet right muiche, leve will I noght;
Fraudulent and suttill, full cold and dry,
Yollowe of colour, colorike am I.

Envius, dissevabill, my skin is roghe;
Outrage in exspence, hardy inoghe;
Suttil and sklender, hote and dry,
Of colour pale, my name is malencoly.


Medicina pro morbo caduco (Lyric 115)

Medicina pro morbo caduco et le fevre.
In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti, Amen.

What manere of evil thou be,
In Goddes name I coungere thee.
I coungere thee with the holy cross
That Jesus was done on with fors.
I conure thee with nailes three
That Jesus was nailed upon the tree.
I coungere thee with the crowne of thorne
That on Jesus hede was done with scorne.
I coungere thee with the precious blode
That Jesus shewed upon the rode.
I coungere thee with woundes five
That Jesus suffred be his live.
I coungere thee with that holy spere
That Longeus to Jesus hert can bere.
I coungere thee nevertheless
With all the vertues of the Masse,
And all the holy prayers of Seint Dorathy.
In nomine Patriis et Filii et Spiritus Sancti, Amen.


A good medicine for sore eyen (Lyric 117)

For a man that is almost blind:
Lat him go barhed all day agein the wind
Till the sone be sette;
At even wrap him in a cloke,
And put him in a hous full of smoke,
And loke that every hol be well shet.

And whan his eyen begine to rope,
Fill hem full of brinston and sope,
And hyll him well and warme;
And if he see not by the next mone
As well at midnight as at none,
I schal lese my right arme.


tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,


Get every new post delivered to your Inbox

Join other followers: