OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Jolly Beggar (1840)/The Duke of Argyle's Courtship to an English Lady

THE DUKE OF ARGYLE'S COURTSHIP TO AN ENGLISH LADY.
Did you ever hear of a loyal Scot, Who was never concern'd in any plot, I wish it might fall to my lot, To marry you my dearie, O.
I wish I had you in Kintyre, And there your beauty I would admire, O then I would have my heart's desire, If you would marry me my dearie, O.
You shall have plenty of barley-bannock store, With geese and fine ducks at the door, And a good chaff-bed upon the floor, If you will marry me, my dearie, O.
Yeu shall have plenty of good Scots kail, With a good fat haggis at every meal, After that, good Scots cakes and ale, If you will marry me, my dearie, O.
O get you gone, you saucy Scot, Your haggis shall never boil in my pot, For you are a proud and prating sot, And never shall be my dearie, O.
I will clout your hose and mend your shoon, And if you chance to hae a son, I'll make him laird when all is done, If you will marry me, my dearie, O.
​Your clouted hose I cannot wear, Your mended shoes I can't endure, And for your lordship I am not sure, So I never shall be your dearie, O.
The deil pick out your twa black een, I wish your face I ne'er had seen, For you are a proud and saucy queen, And never shall be my dearie, O.
I am a noble lord of high renown, I am great Argyle when I came to town, But my blue bonnet has fallen down, And you never shall be my dearie, O.
O pardon, pardon, Argyle, allow, For what I've done in saying so, To the highland hills with you I'll go, I long to be your dearie, O.
There is not a whore in London town Shall set a foot on Campbell's ground, For I am related to the crown, And you never shall be my dearie, O.
I am a noble lord of great renown, I am great Argyle when I come to town; While drums do beat, and trumpets sound, You never shall be my dearie, O.
I wish I had you in Lancashire, To follow me through dub and mire, ​Yet hats from bonnets might retire, And you never shall be my dearie, O.
THE WEAVER'S DAUGHTER.
It was in the charming fine summer weather, When Flora yields a fine fragrant scene, A brisk young squire with his hat and feather, Into the town of Norris went. And there he tarried—much gold he carried; He spied a damsel beautiful and fair, The maid he fancied, her name was Nancy, A weaver's daughter that lived there.
He fix'd his ogling eyes upon her, With every motion for to enjoy; He often crav'd her of her honour, But modest Nancy was something coy. He often courted, and likewise sported, And in his arms did her enfold; He said, my dear Nancy, if you please my fancy, I will give you a chain of gold.
I would not blemish your reputation For all the favours you could bestow, I mean to live in an honest station, No man alive shall serve me so. Keep your laces—your kind embraces, Such silly trifles won't my fancy move; Till death I'll tarry—unless I marry, No man alive shall my ruin prove.
# The Jolly Beggar (1840)/The Weaver's Daughter

THE WEAVER'S DAUGHTER.
It was in the charming fine summer weather, When Flora yields a fine fragrant scene, A brisk young squire with his hat and feather, Into the town of Norris went. And there he tarried—much gold he carried; He spied a damsel beautiful and fair, The maid he fancied, her name was Nancy, A weaver's daughter that lived there.
He fix'd his ogling eyes upon her, With every motion for to enjoy; He often crav'd her of her honour, But modest Nancy was something coy. He often courted, and likewise sported, And in his arms did her enfold; He said, my dear Nancy, if you please my fancy, I will give you a chain of gold.
I would not blemish your reputation For all the favours you could bestow, I mean to live in an honest station, No man alive shall serve me so. Keep your laces—your kind embraces, Such silly trifles won't my fancy move; Till death I'll tarry—unless I marry, No man alive shall my ruin prove.
​Although that I am but a weaver's daughter, I think as much of myself, she cried, As those who make it their whole endeavour To kiss for gold, and in coaches ride; Their cheeks are painted, their bodies tainted, Prove the bad effects of their wanton love; But until death I'll tarry—unless that I marry, There are none on earth my ruin shall prove.
The London youth he stood amaz'd, And for a season nothing said; All on her amorous beauty gaz'd, At length to her these words he said:— I was in France—ay, and in Flanders, And all around this fine Irish shore; I met with ladies and great commanders, But a match for Nancy I ne'er saw before.
Her friends and neighbours wore all acquainted Of this great match that was in hands, The wedding-day it was appointed, He crown’d his love with house and lands. Mirth and weavers, pipes and tabors, Great joy he had for to crown his love, That day they wedded—and at night they bedded, And a loving couple they did prove.
# The Jolly Beggar (1850s)

THE
Jolly Beggar;
To which are added,
The Duke of Argyle's Courtship to an English Lady,
AND
The Weaver's Daughter.
GLASGOW,
PRINTED FOR THE BOOKSELLERS
Poems: (not listed in original)
* The Jolly Beggar
* The Duke of Argyle's courtship to an English lady
* The Weaver's Daughter
This work was published before January 1, 1930, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# The Jolly Beggar (1850s)/The jolly beggar

The Jolly Beggar
There was a jolly beggar, And a begging he had been, With his fal de dal lal a, And he took up his quarters In a house in Aberdeen, With his toran oran an de odi.
The beggar wadna lie in barn, Nor yet wad he in byre, With his, &c. But he would lie into the ha', Or beyond the kitchen fire, With his, &c.
The beggar's bed was well made With clean hay and straw, With his &c. And beyond the kitchen fire There the jolly beggar lay, With his, &c.
The lassie then she did get up To bar the kitchen door, With his, &c. And there she met the jolly beggar Standing naked on the floor, With his, &c.
He gript the lassie by the middle jimp, Laid her against the wa', With his, &c. ​O kind sir, she said be civil For you will waken my dadda, With your, &c.
He never minded what she said, But carried on his stroke, With his, &c. Till he got his job done, Then he began to joke, With his, &c.
Have you got ony dogs about the house, Or ony cats ava, With his, &c. For I'm fear'd they'll cut my meal pocks, Throw them against the wa', With a, &c. O deil tak your meal pocks, My maidenhead's awa, With your, &c.
The lassie she got up again, Three hours before 'twas day, With a, &c. For to gie the beggar hansel Before he went awa, With his, &c.
She went into the cellar, To draw a pot of ale; With a, &c. And the beggar follow'd after, And did the joke again, With his, &c.
​He laid her on the ringle tree. And gave her kisses three, With his, &c. And gave her twenty guineas To pay the horses' fee, With his, &c.
Had you been an honest lass, As I took you to be, With a &c. You might have rode in your carriage, And gone along with me, With my, &c.
This beggar he took a horn, And blew it wondrous shrill, With his, &c. And four-and-twenty belted knights Came riding o'er the hill, With his, &c.
Now if you are afraid, That you should miscall your child, With his, &c. You may call him for the daddy o't, The great Duke of Argyle. With his, &c.
# The Jolly Beggar (1850s)/The Duke of Argyle's courtship to an English lady

The Duke of Argyle's Courtship to an English Lady.
Did you ever hear of a loyal Scot, Who was never concern'd in any plot, I wish it might fall to my lot, To marry you my dearie, O.
I wish I had you in Kintyre, And there your beauty I would admire, O then I would have my heart's desire, If you would marry me my dearie, O.
You shall have plenty of barley bannock store, With geese and fine ducks at the door, And a good chaff-bed upon the floor, If you will marry me my dearie, O.
You shall have plenty of good Scots kail, With a good fat haggis at every meal, After that, good Scots cakes and ale, If you will marry me my dearie, O.
O get you gone you saucy Scot, Your haggis shall never boil in my pot, For you are a proud and prating sot, And never shall be my dearie, O.
I will clout your hose and mend your shoon, And if you chance to hae a son, I'll make him laird when all is done. If you will marry me my dearie, O.
​Your clouted hose I cannot wear Your mended shoes I can't endure, And for your lordship I am not sure, And I never shall be your dearie, O.
The deil pick out your twa black een, I wish your face I ne'er had seen, For you are a proud and saucy queen, And you never shall be my dearie, O.
I am a noble lord of high renown, I am great Argyle when I come to town But my blue bonnet has fallen down And you never shall be my dearie, O.
O pardon, pardon Argyle, allow, For what I have done in saying so, To the highland hills with you I'll go, I long to be your dearie, O.
There is not a whore in London town, Shall set a foot on Campbell's ground, For I am related to the crown. And you never shall be my dearie, O.
I am a noble lord of great renown, I am great Argyle when I come to town; Whole drums do beat and trumpets sound, You never shall be my dearie, O.
I wish I had you in Lancashire, The follow me through dub and mire, ​Yet hats from bonnets might retire, And you never shall be my dearie, O.
# The Jolly Beggar (1850s)/The weaver's daughter

The Weaver's Daughter.
It was in the charming fine summer weather, When Flora yields a fine fragrant scent, A brisk young Squire with his hat and feather Into the town of Norris went: And there he tarried—much gold he carried; He spied a damsel beautiful and fair, This maid he fancied, her name was Nancy, A weaver s daughter that lived ther
He fixed his ogling eyes upon her, With every motion for to enjoy ; He often crav'd her of her honour, But modest Nancy was something coy. He often courted and likewise sported, And in his arms did her enfold: He said my dear Nancy if you please my fancy, I will give you a chain of gold.
I would not blemish your reputation. For all the favours you could bestow: I mean to live in an honest station, No man alive shall serve me so. Keep your laces—your kind embraces, Such silly trifles wont my fancy move; Til death I ll tarry unless I marry No man alive shall my ruin prove.
​Although that I am but a weavers daughter, I think as much of myself she cried, As those who make it their whole endeavour To kiss for gold and in coaches ride; Their cheeks are painted their bodies tainted, Prove the bad effects of their wanton love; But until death I'll tarry-unless that I marry, There are none on earth my ruin shall prove.
This London youth he stood amazed, And for a season nothing said;
All on her amorous beauty gazed; At length to her these words he said I was in France—ay and in Flanders, And all around this fine Irish shore; I met with ladies and great commanders; But a match for Nancy I ne'er saw before.
Her friends and neighbours were all acquainted Of this great match that was in hands: The wedding day it was appointed, He crown'd his love with house and lands. Mirth and weavers, pipes and tabours, Great joy he had for to crown his love, That day they wedded—and at night they bedded, And a loving couple they did prove.
# The Jolly Beggar (Song)

The Jolly Beggar, also known as The Gaberlunzieman, is Child ballad 279 and Roud 118. The song's chorus inspired lines in Lord Byron's poem "So, we'll go no more a roving".
* "The Jolly Beggar" in The Jolly Beggar to which is added... (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Glasgow
* "The Jolly Beggar" in The Jolly Beggar to which are added... (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Glasgow
* "The Jolly Beggar", in The History of Donald and His Dog (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Glasgow
* "The Jolly Beggar" in The English and Scottish Popular Ballads (1882), edited by Francis James Child
* "The Jolly Beggar" in National Ballad and Song (1897), edited by John Stephen Farmer
# The History of Donald and His Dog (Glasgow)/The Jolly Beggar

THE JOLLY BEGGAR
Then was a jollie beggar, and a beggin' he was born', And he took up his quarters into a landwart town. And we'll gang nae mair a-rovin', A-rovin' in the night, And we'll gang nae mair a-rovin', Let the moon shine ne'er sae bricht.
He wad neither lie in barn, nor yet wad he in byre, But in ahint the ha' door, or else afore the fire And we'll gang nae mair a-rovin', &c.
The beggar's bed was made at e'en wi' gude clean straw and hay And in ahint the door, and there the beggar lay. And we'll gang nae mair a-rovin', &c.
Up rose the gude man's dochter, and for to bar the door: And there she saw the beggar standin' i' the floor. And we'll gang nae mair a-rovin', &c.
He took the lassie in his arms, and off with her he ran O hoolie, hoolie, wi' me, sir; ye'll wauken our gude man' And we'll gang nae mair a-rovin', &c.
The beggar was a cunin' loon, and ne'er a word he spak Untill the cock began to craw; syne he began to crack. And we'll gang nae more a-rovin', &c.
Is there ony dowgs into this town? maiden, tell me true And what wad ye do wi' them, my hinnie and my dow? And we'll gang nae mair a-rovin', &c.
They'll ryve a' my meal-pocks and do me mickle wrang, Oh, dule for the dooin' o't, are ye the poor man, And we'll gang nae mair a-rovin, &c.
Then she took up the meal-pocks, and flang them o'er the wa' The deil gae wi' the meal poeks an' tak yersel nwa' And we'll gang nae mair a-rovin', &c.
I took ye for some gentleman, at least the laird o'Brodie Oh, dule for the doin o't are ye the puir bodie, And we'll gang nae mair a-rovin', &c.
He took the lassie in his arms, and gae her kisses three And four an' twenty hunder merks for havin made so free.
And we'll gang nae mair a-rovin', &c.
​And he took out his little knife, loot a' his duddies fa', And he was the brawest gentleman that was amang them a'. And we'll gang nae mair a-rovin', &c.
The beggar was a clever loon, and he lap shouther-hicht, And aye for sicean quarters as I gat yesternight. And we'll gang nae mair a-rovin, &c.
He took a horn frae his side and blew baith loud and shrill, And four and twenty belted knichts came skippin' ower the hill. And we'll gang nae mair a-rovin', &c.
# Weird Tales/Volume 11/Issue 2/The Barnacle Goose

The Barnacle Goose
THE barnacle goose, which is a wild goose quite common in northern Europe, was given its name centuries ago because of a curious and inexplicable superstition; which was nothing less than that barnacles, the tiny shell-fish which attach themselves to ships' bottoms or floating timbers, eventually turn into geese! Barnacles are curious little mollusks which fasten themselves by a fleshy peduncle usually to wooden ships, and sometimes in such quantities that the ship must be put in dry dock and the hull scraped.
Many people in early days did not believe that these mollusks reproduced themselves, but fancied that they grew in some sort of spontaneous manner on tree trunks or in the crevices of decaying timber. Giambattista Porta, in his book on natural magic (published 1569) says, "Not only in Scotland but in the river of Thames by London, there is a kind of shell-fish which . . . commonly stick in the keel of some old ship. Some say they come of worms, some of the boughs of trees which fall into the sea. If any of them be cast upon shore, they die; but they which are swallowed still into the sea, live and get out of their shells, and grow to be ducks or such-like birds."
Butler remarks in Hudibras:
"As Barnacles turn Poland Geese In th' Islands of the Orcades."
Gerarde gravely records in his Herbal (1597) that "in the north parts of Scotland and in the Islands called Orcades there are certain trees whereon these tree-geese and barnacles abound." He describes the resulting fowl as "bigger than a mallard and lesser than a goose, called by the Lancashire people a tree-goose."
It is said that there are still people on the northern Irish and Scottish coasts who believe that these geese are transformed from barnacles; and until recently, at least, the barnacle goose was eaten in France on fast days, on the belief that this was permissible because it was more of a fish than a fowl.
# Weird Tales/Volume 10/Issue 5/The Werewolf

From Weird Tales, Volume10 Issue 5
Folks Used to Believe
The Werewolf
by Alvin F. Harlow
The belief that certain human beings were changed or changed themselves at times into lower animals has prevailed since ancient days not only in Europe but in many other parts of the world. The animal into which persons were most often transformed was a wolf. In ancient Greece a man named Lycaon was said to have been turned into a wolf as a result of eating human flesh. The Greeks also said that a man of the Anteus family was chosen by lot at certain intervals, taken to a lake in Arcadia, where he hung his clothes on an ash-tree and swam across. There he became a wolf and wandered with the pack nine years. Herodotus said that the Neurii, a tribe of eastern Europe, were turned into wolves for a few days every year.
Hideous stories were told of witches and wizards who were able to turn themselves into wolves, and thus went forth to work the will of their master, the Devil, on innocent persons. The change was brought about in various ways. In Europe the commonest method was to remove the clothing and put on an enchanted girdle, usually of the skin of the animal whose form was to be assumed. Sometimes the body was rubbed with a magic salve. Our old Southern friend, Uncle Remus, declares that such people have a slit in the skin at the back of the neck, where they can take hold of the skin and pull it off like a shirt—undoubtedly an African form of the myth. Less skilful persons brought about the change by drinking water out of the animal's footprint, by eating of its brains or drinking of certain enchanted streams.
In Prussia, Livonia and Lithuania in the Sixteenth Century, the Christian bishops said that the werewolves were more destructive than the natural wolves. They were a sort of army allied against Christian people and divine law. During that century many peasants, influenced by the mania, imagined themselves wolves. There was clear proof of many cases in which human beings, especially children, had been killed and eaten by men who fancied themselves wolves.
It seems that werewolves were not always opposed to mankind and the Church, for in the year 617 A. D. a pack of them went to a monastery and killed some heretic monks. Saints sometimes had the power of turning people into wolves. St. Patrick changed Vereticus, King of Wales, into a wolf, and St. Natalis cursed a prominent Irish family by dooming each member of it to be a wolf for seven years. An involuntary werewolf could be cured by kneeling in one place for a hundred years; or you could bring either a voluntary or involuntary werewolf back to human form by accusing it with being a werewolf, or saluting it with the sign of the cross, addressing it by its human baptismal name three times, striking it on the forehead three times with a knife or drawing three drops of its blood.
# Posthumous Humanity: A Study of Phantoms

* related portals: Theosophy
* sister projects: Wikidata item
Translation of Essai sur l'humanité posthume et le spiritisme par un positiviste (1883) with Theosophical commentary and an original appendix.
Layout 2
POSTHUMOUS HUMANITY:
A Study of Phantoms.
by ADOLPHE D'ASSIER, Member of the Bordeaux Academy of Sciences.
Translated and Annotated by HENRY S. OLCOTT, President of the Theosophical Society.
To Which is Added AN APPENDIX Shewing the Popular Beliefs Current in India Respecting the Post-mortem Vicissitudes of the Human Entity.
LONDON: GEORGE REDWAY, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN. 1887.
[Only Authorized Translation.]
Printed by Kelly & Co., Gate Street, Lincoln's Inn Fields, and Kingston-on-Thames
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
This work is a translation and has a separate copyright status to the applicable copyright protections of the original content.
# Laughing Boy

Oliver La Farge won the 1930 Pulitzer Prize for the Novel for this book.
Layout 2
​LAUGHING BOY
BY
OLIVER LA FARGE
THE LITERARY GUILD OF AMERICA
Incorporated
1929
COPYRIGHT, 1929, BY OLIVER LA FARGE
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THE RIGHT TO REPRODUCE THIS BOOK OR PARTS THEREOF IN ANY FORM
PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.
DEDICATED
TO
The only beautiful squaw I have ever seen in all my life, whose name I have forgotten
INTRODUCTORY NOTE
This book is a work of fiction. I have tried to be as true as I knew how to the general spirit of Navajo things, to customs and character, but all personages and incidents in the story are fictitious, as well as places. I have used some real place-names applied to imaginary places, or else have shifted them a hundred miles or so. There are about thirty thousand Navajos, most of whom have at least two descriptive names; it would be impossible, then, to invent names for all my characters and not hit upon some real ones. So I have frankly borrowed from names I have heard, or those listed by scientists. But neither whites nor Indians are real.
I have been as accurate as possible about ceremonies, rites, and customs. If occasionally I have taken liberties, I plead a writer's privilege. Any innovations I may have made are none the less true to the general pattern of Navajo ideas.
This story is meant neither to instruct nor to prove a point, but to amuse. It is not propaganda, nor an indictment of anything. The hostility with which certain of the characters in it view ​Americans and the American system is theirs, arising from the plot, and not the author’s. The picture is frankly one-sided. It is also entirely possible.
O. La F.
New Orleans, 1929
Chapters (not listed in original)
* Chapter I
* Chapter II
* Chapter III
* Chapter IV
* Chapter V
* Chapter VI
* Chapter VII
* Chapter VIII
* Chapter IX
* Chapter X
* Chapter XI
* Chapter XII
* Chapter XIII
* Chapter XIV
* Chapter XV
* Chapter XVI
* Chapter XVII
* Chapter XVIII
* Chapter XIX
* Chapter XX
* Chapter XXI
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1930.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1963, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 61 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# The Green Pastures (1929)/Part 1/Scene 6

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# Towards a New Architecture (Le Corbusier)

TOWARDS A NEW ARCHITECTURE
THE TELEPHONE BUILDING, NEW YORK
TOWARDS A NEW ARCHITECTURE
by
LE CORBUSIER
translated from the thirteenth French edition with an introduction by
FREDERICK ETCHELLS
PAYSON & CLARKE LTD
NEW YORK
Printed in Great Britain by Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, Bungay, Suffolk.
ACKNOWLEDGMENT
THANKS ARE DUE TO THE FOLLOWING, WHO HAVE PERMITTED THE USE OF ILLUSTRATIONS WHICH ARE THEIR PROPERTY: MESSRS. CROSSLEY AND CO. LTD., MESSRS. INDENTED BAR AND CONCRETE ENGINEERING CO. LTD., MESSRS. JOHN P. WHITE AND SONS LTD., MESSRS. LANGLEY LONDON LTD.; AND TO THE ARCHITECTS WHOSE NAMES APPEAR BELOW THE PLATES.
CONTENTS
This work is a translation and has a separate copyright status to the applicable copyright protections of the original content.
# The Green Pastures (1929)/Part 1/Scene 7

Layout 2
Scene VII
God is walking along a country road. He stops to listen. Church bells are heard in the distance.
God
Dat’s nice. Nice an’ quiet. Dat’s de way I like Sunday to be. [The sound is broken by a shrill voice ​Page:The Green Pastures (1929).djvu/69 ​Page:The Green Pastures (1929).djvu/70 ​Page:The Green Pastures (1929).djvu/71 ​Page:The Green Pastures (1929).djvu/72 ​Page:The Green Pastures (1929).djvu/73 ​Page:The Green Pastures (1929).djvu/74 ​Page:The Green Pastures (1929).djvu/75 ​Page:The Green Pastures (1929).djvu/76 ​Page:The Green Pastures (1929).djvu/77 ​Page:The Green Pastures (1929).djvu/78 ​Page:The Green Pastures (1929).djvu/79 ​Page:The Green Pastures (1929).djvu/80 ​Page:The Green Pastures (1929).djvu/81 ​Page:The Green Pastures (1929).djvu/82 ​Page:The Green Pastures (1929).djvu/83