OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The "Bab" Ballads/The Troubadour

THE TROUBADOUR.
A TROUBADOUR he played
Without a castle wall,
Within, a hapless maid
Responded to his call.   "Oh, willow, woe is me!
Alack and well-a-day!
If I were only free
I'd hie me far away!"
Unknown her face and name,
But this he knew right well,
The maiden's wailing came
From out a dungeon cell.
A hapless woman lay
Within that dungeon grim—
That fact, I've heard him say,
Was quite enough for him.
"I will not sit or lie,
Or eat or drink, I vow, Till thou art free as I,
Or I as pent as thou."
Her tears then ceased to flow,
Her wails no longer rang,
And tuneful in her woe
The prisoned maiden sang:
"Oh, stranger, as you play
I recognise your touch;
And all that I can say
Is, thank you very much."
He seized his clarion straight,
And blew thereat, until
A warden oped the gate,
"Oh, what might be your will?"
"I've come, sir knave, to see
The master of these halls:
A maid unwillingly
Lies prisoned in their walls."
With barely stifled sigh
That porter drooped his head,
With teardrops in his eye,
"A many, sir," he said.
He stayed to hear no more,
But pushed that porter by,
And shortly stood before
Sir Hugh de Peckham Rye.
Sir Hugh he darkly frowned,
"What would you, sir, with me?"
The troubadour he downed
Upon his bended knee.
"I've come, De Peckham Rye,
To do a Christian task;
You ask me what would I?
It is not much I ask.
"Release these maidens, sir,
Whom you dominion o'er—
Particularly her
Upon the second floor.
"And if you don't, my lord"—
He here stood bolt upright,
And tapped a tailor's sword— "Come out, you cad, and fight!"
Sir Hugh he called—and ran
The warden from the gate:
"Go, show this gentleman
The maid in forty-eight."   By many a cell they past,
And stopped at length before
A portal, bolted fast:
The man unlocked the door.
He called inside the gate
With coarse and brutal shout,
"Come, step it, forty-eight!"
And forty-eight stepped out.
"They gets it pretty hot,
The maidens wot we cotch—
Two years this lady's got
For collaring a wotch."
"Oh, ah!—indeed—I see,"
The troubadour exclaimed—
"If I may make so free,
How is this castle named?"
The warden's eyelids fill,
And sighing, he replied,
"Of gloomy Pentonville
This is the female side!"
The minstrel did not wait
The warden stout to thank,
But recollected straight
He'd business at the Bank.
# The "Bab" Ballads/To My Bride

TO MY BRIDE.
(whoever she may be.)
OH! little maid!—(I do not know your name
 Or who you are, so, as a safe precaution
I'll add)—Oh, buxom widow! married dame!
(As one of these must be your present portion)
Listen, while I unveil prophetic lore for you,
And sing the fate that Fortune has in store for you.
You'll marry soon—within a year or twain
A bachelor of circa two and thirty,
Tall, gentlemanly, but extremely plain,
And, when you're intimate, you'll call him "Bertie."
Neat—dresses well; his temper has been classified
As hasty; but he's very quickly pacified.
You'll find him working mildly at the Bar,
After a touch at two or three professions,
From easy affluence extremely far
A brief or two on Circuit—"soup" at Sessions;
A pound or two from whist, and backing horses,
And, say three hundred from his own resources.
Quiet in harness; free from serious vice,
His faults are not particularly shady,
You'll never find him "shy"—for, once or twice
Already, he's been driven by a lady,
Who parts with him—perhaps a poor excuse for him— Because she hasn't any further use for him.
Oh! bride of mine—tall, dumpy, dark or fair!
Oh! widow—wife, maybe, or blushing maiden,
I've told your fortune; solved the gravest care
With which your mind has hitherto been laden.
I've prophesied correctly, never doubt it;
Now tell me mine—and please be quick about it!
You—only you—can tell me, an' you will,
To whom I'm destined shortly to be mated.
Will she run up a heavy modiste's bill?
If so, I want to hear her income stated.
(This is a point which interests me greatly),
To quote the bard, "Oh! have I seen her lately?"
Say, must I wait till husband number one
Is comfortably stowed away at Woking?
How is her hair most usually done? And tell me, please, will she object to smoking?
The colour of her eyes, too, you may mention:
Come, Sybil, prophesy—I'm all attention.
# The "Bab" Ballads/To a Little Maid

TO A LITTLE MAID.
By a Policeman.
COME with me, little maid,
 Nay, shrink not, thus afraid—
I'll harm thee not! Fly not, my love, from me—
I have a home for thee—
A fairy grot,
Where mortal eye
Can rarely pry,
There shall thy dwelling be!
List to me, while I tell
The pleasures of that cell, Oh, little maid!
What though its couch be rude,
Homely the only food
Within its shade?
No thought of care
Can enter there,
No vulgar swain intrude!
Come with me, little maid,
Come to the rocky shade
I love to sing;
Live with us, maiden rare—
Come, for we "want" thee there,
Thou elfin thing,
To work thy spell,
In some cool cell
In stately Pentonville!
# The "Bab" Ballads/The Three Kings of Chickeraboo

THE THREE KINGS OF CHICKERABOO.
THERE were three niggers of Chickeraboo—
Pacifico, Bang-bang, Popchop—who
Exclaimed, one terribly sultry day,
"Oh, let's be kings in a humble way."
The first was a highly-accomplished "bones," The next elicited banjo tones,
The third was a quiet, retiring chap,
Who danced an excellent break-down "flap."
"We niggers," said they, "have formed a plan
By which, whenever we like, we can
Extemporize islands near the beach,
And then we'll collar an island each.
"Three casks, from somebody else's stores,
Shall rep-per-esent our island shores,
Their sides the ocean wide shall lave,
Their heads just topping the briny wave.
"Great Britain's navy scours the sea,
And everywhere her ships they be;
She'll recognise our rank, perhaps,
When she discovers we're Royal Chaps.
"If to her skirts you want to cling,
It's quite sufficient that you're a king;
She does not push inquiry far
To learn what sort of king you are."
A ship of several thousand tons,
And mounting seventy-something guns,
Ploughed, every year, the ocean blue,
Discovering kings and countries new.
The brave Rear-Admiral Bailey Pip,
Commanding that superior ship,
Perceived one day, his glasses through,
The kings that came from Chickeraboo.
"Dear eyes!" said Admiral Pip, "I see
Three flourishing islands on our lee.
And, bless me! most extror'nary thing!
On every island stands a king!
"Come, lower the Admiral's gig," he cried,
"And over the dancing waves I'll glide;
That low obeisance I may do
To those three Kings of Chickeraboo!"
The admiral pulled to the islands three;
The kings saluted him graciouslee.
The admiral, pleased at his welcome warm,
Pulled out a printed Alliance form.
"Your Majesty, sign me this, I pray—
I come in a friendly kind of way—
I come, if you please, with the best intents,
And Queen Victoria's compliments."
The kings were pleased as they well could be;
The most retiring of all the three,
In a "cellar-flap" to his joy gave vent
With a banjo-bones accompaniment.
The great Rear-Admiral Bailey Pip
Embarked on board his jolly big ship,
Blue Peter flew from his lofty fore, And off he sailed to his native shore.   Admiral Pip directly went
To the Lord at the head of the Government,
Who made him, by a stroke of a quill, Baron de Pippe, of Pippetonneville.
The College of Heralds permission yield
That he should quarter upon his shield
Three islands, vert, on a field of blue,
With the pregnant motto "Chickeraboo."
Ambassadors, yes, and attachés, too, Are going to sail for Chickeraboo.
And, see, on the good ship's crowded deck,
A bishop, who's going out there on spec.
And let us all hope that blissful things
May come of alliance with darky kings.
Oh, may we never, whatever we do,
Declare a war with Chickeraboo!
# The "Bab" Ballads/To the Terrestrial Globe

TO THE TERRESTRIAL GLOBE.
BY A MISERABLE WRETCH.
ROLL on, thou ball, roll on!
Through pathless realms of Space
Roll on!
What, though I'm in a sorry case?
What, though I cannot meet my bills?
What, though I suffer toothache's ills?
What, though I swallow countless pills?
Never you mind!
Roll on!
Roll on, thou ball, roll on!
Through seas of inky air
Roll on!
It's true I've got no shirts to wear;
It's true my butcher's bill is due
It's true my prospects all look blue—
But don't let that unsettle you!
Never you mind!
Roll on!
# The "Bab" Ballads/To Phoebe

TO PHŒBE.
“GENTLE, modest, little flower,
 Sweet epitome of May,
Love me but for half-an-hour,
Love me, love me, little fay."
Sentences so fiercely flaming
In your tiny shell-like ear,
I should always be exclaiming
If I loved you, Phœbe dear!
"Smiles that thrill from any distance
Shed upon me while I sing!
Please ecstaticize existence,
Love me, oh, thou fairy thing!"
Words like these, outpouring sadly,
You'd perpetually hear,
If I loved you, fondly, madly;—
But I do not, Phœbe, dear!
# Silver King Coalition Mines Company v. Conkling Mining Company (255 U.S. 151)

* related portals: Supreme Court of the United States.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
United States Supreme Court
255 U.S. 151
Silver King Coalition Mines Company v. Conkling Mining Company
Argued: Jan. 19, 1921. --- Decided: Feb 28, 1921
Messrs. Thomas Marioneaux, of Salt Lake City, Utah, Curtis H. Lindley, of San Francisco, Cal., W. H. Dickson and A. C. Ellis, Jr., both of Salt Lake City, Utah, and W. C. Prentiss, of Washington, D. C., for petitioner and appellant.
[Argument of Counsel from page 152-153 intentionally omitted]
Messrs. F. B. Critchlow and Wm. W. Ray, both of Salt Lake City, Utah, for respondent and appellee.
[Argument of Counsel from pages 153-159 intentionally omitted]
Mr. Justice HOLMES delivered the opinion of the Court.

## Notes

This work is in the public domain in the United States because it is a work of the United States federal government (see 17 U.S.C. 105).
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Silver King Coalition Mines Company v. Conkling Mining Company

* Search for titles containing or beginning with: "Silver King Coalition Mines Company v. Conkling Mining Company."
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
This is a disambiguation page. It lists works that share the same title. If an article link referred you here, please consider editing it to point directly to the intended page.
* Silver King Coalition Mines Company v. Conkling Mining Company (255 U.S. 151)
* Silver King Coalition Mines Company v. Conkling Mining Company (256 U.S. 18)
# Silver King Coalition Mines Company v. Conkling Mining Company (256 U.S. 18)

* related portals: Supreme Court of the United States.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
United States Supreme Court
256 U.S. 18
Silver King Coalition Mines Company v. Conkling Mining Company (256 U.S. 18)
Argued: April 11, 1921. ---
[Argument of Counsel from pages 18-24 intentionally omitted]
Mr. Justice HOLMES delivered the opinion of the Court.

## Notes

This work is in the public domain in the United States because it is a work of the United States federal government (see 17 U.S.C. 105).
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Silver Palm Certificate - Brandon Wilson

BRANDON WILSON
IS HEREBY CERTIFIED AS AN EAGLE SCOUT
WITH SILVER PALM DATE AUGUST 12 1968
* ALLEGHENY TRAILS COUNCIL
* ADVANCEMENT COMMITTEE
* /s/GEORGE J. CAHILL
* SCOUT EXECUTIVE
This work is in the public domain worldwide because it has been so released by the copyright holder.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Songs of Love and Rebellion/Rebellion

REBELLION
Rebellion comes, hope's sacred fire, To Freedom's son from Freedom's sire; A soul-breath swordsmen cannot kill, Nor gold, nor cross, nor rifle still.
With Lucifer it marched on God And broke Jehovah's scourging rod: It stood with Christ in Pilate's hall And doomed the Caesars to their fall.
It sent Gautama on his quest, Him Asia calls her light and blest; With Quetzalcoatl, long ago, It stirred the heart of Mexico.
With Moses it for freedom sought; With wild Mahomet, too, it fought; It gave Zoroaster all his fame, Confucius his deathless name.
With Cromwell's legions, grim and cold. It trampled on the statutes old; With Voltaire, Marat and St. Just, It raged 'till Europe rose from dust.
It called Abe Lincoln from the plains, Set Marx and Ferrer breaking chains, And hovered o'er the Commune when It fired the souls of workingmen.
'Tis that which stirs the race today— 'Tis that which makes truth's lightnings play— 'Tis Revolution in its birth— The soul of Freedom—the light of earth—
REBELLION!
# Songs of Love and Rebellion/Might is right

MIGHT IS RIGHT
Might was right when Christ was hanged Beside the Jordan's foam; Might was right when Gracchus bled, Upon the stones of Rome; And might was right when Danton fell, When Emmet passed away— "'Tis the logic of the ancient world, And the gospel of today."
Might was right when Spartacus Went down in seas of blood, And when the Commune perished In the self-same crimson flood; And might was right at Cripple Creek, At Homestead, Grabow—yea! "'Tis the logic of the ancient world, And the gospel of today."
Might was right when Parsons died, When Ferrer followed him, When Cole's young life was beaten out In Spokane's dungeons grim; And might was right when Pettibone Went stagg'ring down death's way— "'Tis the logic of the ancient world, And the gospel of today."
Might is right when Morgan builds A hell 'round every hearth; Might is right when Kirby starves His peons off the earth; And might was right when Deitz became Wolfe Weyerhauser's prey — "'Tis the logic of the ancient world, And the gospel of today."
Might is right when children die By thousands in the mills, When jeweled hands reach down and take The gold their blood distills; And might is right when maidens give Their love-dreams up for pay— "'Tis the logic of the ancient world, And the gospel of today."
Might was, it is, it e'er will be, The one and only right; And so, O hosts of toil, awaken! O workingmen, unite! Unite! Unite! For might is right— 'Tis freedom's only way— "'Tis the logic of the ancient world, And the gospel of today."
# Songs of Love and Rebellion/Ole Ned am dyin'

OLE NED AM DYIN'
Ole Ned am dyin', Massa Will; Dis po' ole heart will soon be still; Dese w'ary han's will toil no mo'; Dis feeble head am bendin' low; Dese tired feet done done dey bes', En in de grabe dey soon will res'.
Ole marster's dar; ole mistiss, too, Am standin' in de hebbens blue; Dey's built er home erway up dar, En hebben, at las', hit ain' so far Dat I kin trable de journey t'ro', En wait up dar fo' all ob you.
De angel ob def am hoberin' ni'— Tell all de fokes fo' me good-by, Marse Jeems, Miss Lizzie en Miss Sue, Yo' brudders en yo' sisters, too. I'd lak ter see dem all once mo', But God, de sabior, wills hit so.
Ma bref am growin' short, Marse Will, En ebryt'ing am close en still— En whut am all de ban's erbout? En mus' I gibe de rashuns out? En whut am dar? Look in de sky! God bless you all—Marse Will, good-by.
# Songs of Love and Rebellion/Res', sweet res'

RES', SWEET RES'
De toil en de trouble's almos' done, Res', sweet res'; De w'ary road en de burnin' sun, Res', sweet res'; I hears de harps ob hebben ring, So sof', low songs ma Mammy sing, Way yonder in de happy spring, Res', sweet res'.
I's gwine back ter de ole home place, Res', sweet res'; Fo' daylite dies I'll see her face, Res', sweet res'; I sees her standin' in de do', De moonlite on de cabin flo', En I's gwine home fo' ebermo', Res', sweet res'.
# Songs of Love and Rebellion/My mammy's son

MY MAMMY'S SON
I don't wan to see him crushed, my dear old mammy's son, The boy I played with long ago, whose "chinas" oft I won; Who stood with me in many fights in the old plantation days; Whose heart was true and loyal in a thousand different ways.
I don't want to see him crushed, his children made the prey Of every wolf that howls along the Anglo-Saxon way; Of every low-browed, heartless thing that bays him with the scream: "I am the Anglo-Saxon and I am the white supreme!"
I don't want to see him crushed, his black face scarred with grief, His sorrows made unending, or his pleasures few and brief; For often I remember how he stood there at my side, When the old home went to pieces, with a friendship true and tried.
I don't want to see him crushed, his life-work made in vain, His misery the corner-stone of demagogic gain; His degradation the excuse for Pharisees on high, A refuge for the scoundrel and a cloak for every lie.
I don't want to see him crushed, nor made a nameless thing, A chattel in the service of the menials of the king; A slave unto the servants who attend the lords of gold, Who are rottening the structure that the fathers built of old.
I don't want to see him crushed, my dear old mammy's son, The boy I played with long ago, whose "chinas" oft I won; And for his sake an Aryan pleads with Aryans to-day To rise in Aryan manhood and drive the wolves away.
# Songs of Love and Rebellion/Psyche-land

PSYCHE-LAND
There the beautiful stars in the beautiful heavens above Glow thru the beautiful night on the beautiful gardens of love, Till the world is a beautiful vision, the dream of the dreamers come true, And the light of the beautiful gardens is the beautiful spirit of you.
There the beautiful birds sing life's beautiful song, And the beautiful waters the beautiful music prolong, Filling and thrilling and making the world-land beautiful, over anew, And the heart and the soul of the beautiful music is the beautiful spirit of you.
# Songs of Love and Rebellion/Mary, the mother of Christ

MARY, THE MOTHER OF CHRIST
On Golgotha's barren mountain-top two thousand years ago, Knelt the mother of a convict keeping watch upon his wo; Guarding, with that other Mary, in the brute mob all alone, Fearlessly beside the dying, at the great Blasphemer's throne.
Brokenheartedly she murmured o'er and o'er the words of love, Reaching thru the tragic darkness to the stricken form above; Seeking with the mother-magic to give comfort to his pain, Weeping when he cried for mercy to Authority in vain.
In the midst of all the legions, of the law in all its might, Of the murdrous priesthood jeering, as they've ever jeered the right, Knelt the mother of the convict, of the outcast hanging there, Unaffrighted by the clamor, in her beautiful despair.
Far across the weary centuries I seem to see her still, She the loving and the gentle, on that blackened, blood-wet hill; Watching, with that other Mary, in the brute mob all alone, Fearlessly beside the dying, at the great Blasphemer's throne.
# Songs of Love and Rebellion/My Woman

MY WOMAN
I want my Woman before I die, Her they stole from my arms with their Christian lie,— I want my Woman before I die! To feel her blood in my heart again, On my lips the storm of her kisses rain; Love-lusting, passionate, undefiled, Ans'ring the cry and the call of the wild,— I want my Woman before I die, I want my Woman before I die!
I want my Woman before I die, Her they stole from my arms with their Christian lie,— I want my Woman before I die! To see the flame in her cheeks arise, And the fires of love in her glowing eyes; I want her now as in the days of old Ere the law was writ or the lie was told,— I want my Woman before I die, I want my Woman before I die!
I want my Woman before I die, Her they stole from my arms with their Christian lie,— I want my Woman before I die! To hold her now as I held her then, On the shore of the lake, in a forest glen, Before the days of the primal curse, By the laws that root in the universe, Her they stole from my arms with their Christian lie,— I want my Woman before I die, I want my Woman before I die!
# Songs of Love and Rebellion/One last kiss

ONE LAST KISS
Lift your glowing lips to mine, my darling; kiss me once again; Kiss me, though my heart be broken when our lips are torn in twain; Kiss me, though my soul should waken, weeping, evermore to dwell In the land of utmost grieving, as a citizen of hell.
Kiss me once again, my darling, though my soul forever dies With the dying of the love-light from your clear and splendid eyes; Lift your lips to mine and kiss me, though the kiss leave desolate Every palace I have builded in the dreamland of my fate.
# Sonnet 122 (Shakespeare)

One of the 154 sonnets by Shakespeare from the collection Shakespeare's Sonnets (1609).
* "Sonnet 122," in Shake-speares Sonnets, Never before Imprinted (1609)
* "Sonnet 122," in Shakespeare's Sonnets, (ed.) by William J. Rolfe (1883)
* "Sonnet 122," in Shakespeare's Sonnets, (ed.) by Edward Bliss Reed, The Yale Shakespeare (1923)
The Sonnets of William Shakespeare
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Sonnet 123 (Shakespeare)

One of the 154 sonnets by Shakespeare from the collection Shakespeare's Sonnets (1609).
* "Sonnet 123," in Shake-speares Sonnets, Never before Imprinted (1609)
* "Sonnet 123," in Shakespeare's Sonnets, (ed.) by William J. Rolfe (1883)
* "Sonnet 123," in Shakespeare's Sonnets, (ed.) by Edward Bliss Reed, The Yale Shakespeare (1923)
The Sonnets of William Shakespeare
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Sonnet 124 (Shakespeare)

One of the 154 sonnets by Shakespeare from the collection Shakespeare's Sonnets (1609).
* "Sonnet 124," in Shake-speares Sonnets, Never before Imprinted (1609)
* "Sonnet 124," in Shakespeare's Sonnets, (ed.) by William J. Rolfe (1883)
* "Sonnet 124," in Shakespeare's Sonnets, (ed.) by Edward Bliss Reed, The Yale Shakespeare (1923)
The Sonnets of William Shakespeare
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Sonnet 11 (Shakespeare)

One of the 154 sonnets by Shakespeare from the collection Shakespeare's Sonnets (1609).
* "Sonnet 11," in Shake-speares Sonnets, Never before Imprinted (1609)
* "Sonnet 11," in Shakespeare's Sonnets, (ed.) by William J. Rolfe (1883)
* "Sonnet 11," in Shakespeare's Sonnets, (ed.) by Edward Bliss Reed, The Yale Shakespeare (1923)
The Sonnets of William Shakespeare
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Sonnet 12

* Search for titles containing or beginning with: "Sonnet 12."
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
This is a disambiguation page. It lists works that share the same title. If an article link referred you here, please consider editing it to point directly to the intended page.
* Sonnet 12, by Barnfield
* Sonnet 12, by Ján Kollár
* Sonnet 12, by William Shakespeare.

## See also

* Sonnet XII
# Sonnet 120 (Shakespeare)

One of the 154 sonnets by Shakespeare from the collection Shakespeare's Sonnets (1609).
* "Sonnet 120," in Shake-speares Sonnets, Never before Imprinted (1609)
* "Sonnet 120," in Shakespeare's Sonnets, (ed.) by William J. Rolfe (1883)
* "Sonnet 120," in Shakespeare's Sonnets, (ed.) by Edward Bliss Reed, The Yale Shakespeare (1923)
The Sonnets of William Shakespeare
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Sonnet 126 (Shakespeare)

One of the 154 sonnets by Shakespeare from the collection Shakespeare's Sonnets (1609).
* "Sonnet 126," in Shake-speares Sonnets, Never before Imprinted (1609)
* "Sonnet 126," in Shakespeare's Sonnets, (ed.) by William J. Rolfe (1883)
* "Sonnet 126," in Shakespeare's Sonnets, (ed.) by Edward Bliss Reed, The Yale Shakespeare (1923)
The Sonnets of William Shakespeare
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse