OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Maroccus Extaticus

A tract written in 1595 about the performing horse Marocco and his owner William Bankes.
Maroccus Extaticus, or, Bankes Bay Horse in a Trance. A Discourse set downe in a Merry Dialogue between Bankes and his beast: Anatomizing some abuses and bad trickes of his age.
Written and intituled to mine Host of the Belsauage, and all his honest Guests.
By Iohn Dando, the wier-drawer of Hadley, and Harrie Runt, head Ostler of Bosomes Inne.
TO THE READERS.
INTERLOCUTORES. Bankes and his Horse.
Horse. Whereby matters and dealinges may seeme for to be? Verie good sir, spoke like a wholesome haberdasher, and as wisely, by Lady, master, as he that was sworne to his wiues friends, not to credit out his wares to anie man for the first fifteene yeeres he was married.
Bankes. And therewith mee thinkes I see him hang the hat upon the pin againe. Wast not so, Marocco? I am glad, sir, to heare you so pleasant in the threshold of my discourse, for I am come in purpose to debate a while and dialogue with you, and therefore haue at you after your watering; laie out your lipsand sweep your manger cleane, and summon your wits together, for I meane (by mine host leaue), to recreate my selfe awhile with your horsemanship.
Horse. And I am as like, master, to shew you some horse plaie as ere a nag in this parish; for tis a iade can neither whinie nor wag his taile, and you haue brought me up to both, I thanke you, and made me an understanding horse, and a horse of seruice, master, and that you know.
Bankes. I, Marocco, I know it, and acknowledge it; and so must thou, if thou haue so much ingenuitie, confesse my kindnes, thou art not onely but also bound to honest Bankes, for teaching thee so many odde prankes. I haue brought thee up right tenderly, as a baker's daughter would bring up a cosset by hand, and allow it bread and milke by the eie.
Horse. Maius peccatum habes; master, you haue the more to answere, God help you; for I warrant you (though I saie it that should not saie it), I eat more prouender in foure and twentie houres, than two of the geldings that Robin Snibor keeps, that a hires for two shillings a daie a peece.
Bankes. Two shillings, Marocco, nay, what saist thou by halfe a crowne and ten groats?
Horse. Marie, I say, three daies hire is worth four such horses, saddles and all; for a buyes them for ten pence a saddle at S. Giles, one with another, and those accoutrements are sutable to his steeds.
Bankes. Me thinkes such steedes should stand a man in small stead, by that he had ridde some fiue miles out of towne.
Horse. Yea, be sure, or halfe fiue miles either. And commonly the saddle fals asunder and splits in two peeces at the towns end, and one side takes his iourney towards Uxbridge, and the other towards Stanes, to stop mine hosts cushions of the George.
Bankes. Why thats Suum cuique, boye, for the waine-men of the West countrie and the carryers of Gloucestershire commonlye barter awaye their broken ware with the hostlers for pease and horsebread, and they returne them a horsebacke to Peter Pympe the patch pannel. Marocco, thou knowest where I am now.
# Weird Tales/Volume 8/Issue 1/Salem

From Weird Tales, Volume 8, Issue 1
SALEM
(Reprint)
By EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN
Soe, Mistress Anne, faire neighbour myne,
How rides a witche when nighte-winds blowe? Folk say that you are none too goode
To joyne the crews in Salem woode, When one you wot of gives the signe;
Righte well, methinks, the pathe you knowe.
In Meetinge-time I watched you well,
Whiles godly Master Parris prayed;
Your folded hands laye on your booke;
But Richard answered to a looke
That fain would tempt him unto hell,
Where, Mistress Anne, your place is made.
You looke into my Richard's eyes
With evil glances shamelesse growne;
I found about his wriste a hair,
And guessed what fingers tyed it there;
He shall not lightly be your prize,
Your Master firste shall take his owne.
'Tis not in nature he should be
(Who loved me soe when Springe was greene)
A childe, to hange upon your gowne!
He loved me well in Salem Towne
Until this wanton witcherie
His harte and myne crept dark betweene.
Last Sabbath night, the gossips saye,
Your goodman missed you from his side.
He had no strength to move, until
Agen, as if in slumber still,
Beside him at the dawne you laye:
Tell nowe, what meanwhile did betide.
Dame Anne, mye hate goe with you fleete
As driftes the Bay fogg overhead
Or over yonder hill-topp where
There is a tree ripe fruite shall bear
When, neighbour myne, your wicked feet
The stones of Gallowes Hill shall tread.
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
# JFK Assassination File 104-10172-10108

JFK Assassination File 104-10172-10108, which was created by the Central Intelligence Agency and released by the United States federal government on August 24, 2023.
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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
# Nothing Like Grog/Rule, Britannia

RULE, BRITANNIA.
When Britain, first, at Heav'n's command, Arose from out the azure main, Arose from out the azure main; This was the charter, the charter of the land, And guardian angels sung this strain: Rule, Britannia, Britannia rule the waves Britons never shall be slaves.
The nations, (not so blest as thee), Must, in their turns, to tyrants fall, Must, in their turns, to tyrants fall; Whilst thou shalt flourish—shalt flourish great and free. The dread and envy of them all. Rule, Britannia, &c.
Still more majestic shalt thou rise, More dreadful from each foreign stroke; More dreadful from each foreign stroke; As the loud blast that—loud blast that tears the skies, Serves but to root the native oak. Rule, Britannia, &c.
The haughty tyrants ne’er shall tame. All their attempts to bend thee down, All their attempts to bend thee down. Will but arouse thy—arouse thy gen’rous flame, But work their woe, and thy renown. Rule, Britannia, &c.
To thee belongs the rural reign; Thy cities shall with commerce shine; Thy cities shall with commerce shine; And thine shall be the—shall be the subject main; And ev'ry shore it circles, thine. Rule, Britannia, &c.
The Muses, still with freedom found, Shall to thy happy coasts repair; Shall to thy happy coasts repair; Blest isle! with matchless—with matchless beauty crown’d, And manly hearts to guard the fair. Rule, Britannia, &c.
# What Ails This Heart O' Mine

* "What Ails This Heart O' Mine", in Nothing Like Grog (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Edinburgh
* "What ails this heart", in The Book of Scottish Song (1843), edited by Alexander Whitelaw
# Nothing Like Grog/What Ails This Heart O' Mine

WHAT AILS THIS HEART O' MINE.
What ails this heart o’ mine, What ails this watery e‘e? ​What gars me ay turn cauld as death, When I tak leave o‘ thee? When thou art far awa, Thou'lt dearer grow to me; But change o‘ fouk and change o‘ place; May gar thy fancy jee.
Then I‘ll sit down and mourn, Just by yon spreading tree, And gin a leaf fa ‘ in my lap, I'll ca't a word frae thee. Syne I‘ll gang to the bower, Which thou with roses tied, ‘Twas there, by many a blushing bud, I strove my love to hide.
I‘ll doat on ilka spot, Whar I hae been wi‘ thee, I‘ll ca‘ to mind some guid love tale, By every burn and tree. ‘Tis hope that cheers the mind, Tho‘lovers distant be, And when I think I see thee still, I'll think I‘m still with thee.
# The Book of Scottish Song/What ails this heart

What ails this heart.
[Susanna Blamire.—Air, "Sir James Baird."—"This song," says Mr. Maxwell, "seems to have been a favourite with the authoress, for I have met with it in various forms among her papers; and the labour bestowed upon it has been well repaid by the popularity it has all along enjoyed. The edition given, the best that has yet been in types, is printed from a copy of several of her poems and songs, fairly and carefully written out, apparently either for publication or for the perusal of a friend, all of which appear to have got her final corrections. See the air in Neil Gow's First Collection of Reels, &c. 3d edit. p. 8. It forms the 541st song in 'The Scots Musical Museum,' vol. vi., first published in June 1803. The original title of the air seems to have been 'My dearie, an' thou dee.' It is the second song to the music, the first being Gall's beautiful 'O, Mary, turn awa'.' 'Both of these songs,' says Mr. Stenhouse, 'are excellent.'"]
What ails this heart o' mine? What ails this watery e'e? What gars me a' turn cauld as death When I take leave o' thee? When thou art far awa' Thou'lt dearer grow to me; But change o' place and change o' fok May gar thy fancy jee.
When I gae out at e'en, Or walk at morning air, Ilk rustling bush will seem to say I us'd to meet thee there. Then I'll sit down and cry, And live aneath the tree, And when a leaf fa's i' my lap I'll ca't a word frae thee.
I'll hie me to the bower That thou wi' roses tied. And where wi' mony a blushing bud I strove mysel' to hide. I'll doat on ilka spot Where I ha'e been wi' thee; And ca' to mind some kindly word By ilka burn and tree! ​Wi' sic thoughts i' my mind, Time through the world may gae, And find my heart in twenty years The same as 'tis to-day. 'Tis thoughts that bind the soul, And keep friends i' the e'e; And gin I think I see thee aye, What can part thee and me!
# Saw Ye Johnny Comin'

* "Saw Ye Johnny Comin'", in Nothing Like Grog (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Edinburgh
* "Fee him, Father", in The Book of Scottish Song (1843), edited by Alexander Whitelaw
# The Book of Scottish Song/Fee him, Father

First appeared in Herd's Collection, 1776.
Fee him, Father.
[This beautifully simple song first appeared in Herd's Collection, 1776. Fraser, a hautbois player in Edinburgh, and acquainted with Burns, distinguished himself by his manner of playing the air. "When he plays it slow," says Burns, "he makes it, in fact, the language of despair." Fraser died in 1825.]
Saw ye Johnny comin', quo' she, Saw ye Johnny comin'. Saw ye Johnny comin', quo' she, Saw ye Johnny comin; Saw ye Johnny comin', quo' she, Saw ye Johnny comin'; Wi' his blue bonnet on his head, And his doggie rinnin', quo' she, And his doggie rinnin'?
Fee him, father, fee him, quo' she, Fee him, father, fee him; Fee him, father, fee him, quo' she, Fee him, father, fee him; For he is a gallant lad, And a weel-doin'; And a' the wark about the house, Gaes wi' me when I see him, quo' she, Wi' me when I see him.
What will I do wi' him, quo' he, What will I do wi' him? He's ne'er a sark upon his back, And I ha'e nane to gi'e him. I ha'e twa sarks into my kist, And ane o' them I'll gi'e him; And for a merk o' mair fee Dinna stand wi' him, quo' she, Dinna stand wi' him. ​For weel do I lo'e him, quo' she, Weel do I lo'e him; For weel do I lo'e him, quo' she, Weel do I lo'e him. O fee him, father, fee him. quo' she, Fee him, father, fee him; He'll haud the pleugh, thrash in the barn, And crack wi' me at e'en, quo' she, And crack wi' me at e'en.
# Nothing Like Grog/Saw Ye Johnny Comin'

FEE HIM, FATHER, FEE HIM.
O saw ye Johnny comin, quo' she, Saw ye Johnny comin; Saw ye Johnny comin, quo' she, Saw ye Johnny comin. Wi' his blue bonnet on his head, And his dogie rinnin, quo' she, And his dogie rinnin.
Fee him, father, fee him, quo' she, Fee him, father, fee him; Fee him, father, fee him, quo' she, Fee him, father, fee him. For he is a gallant lad, And a weel-doin', And a' the wark about the town, Gaes wi’ me when I see him, quo' she, Gaes wi’ me when I see him.
O what will I do wi' him, quo' he, What will I do wi’ him; He has ne'er a coat upon his back, And I hae nane to gie him. I hae twa coats into my kist, And ane o‘ them I'll gie him, ​And for a mark o‘ mair fee, Dinna stand wi‘ him, quo' she, Dinna stand wi‘ him.
For weel do I loe him, quo' she, Weel do I loe him; For weel do I loe him, quo' she, Weel do I loe him. Then fee him, father, fee him, quo‘ she, Fee him, father, fee him; He‘ll haud the plough, thrash in the barn, And crack wi' me at e'en, quo' she, And crack wi‘ me at een.
FINIS.
# Seven English Popular Songs

There are differences between the titles given on the front page and those at the head of each song; where this is the case, the latter have been used.
SEVEN ENGLISH
Popular Songs.
The Tyrolese Song of Liberty.
The Castilian Maid.
Faintly as tolls the evening chime.
Oh! rest thee, Babe.
Farewell.
The Gipsy Wanderer.
God save the King.
KILMARNOCK. PRINTED FOR THE BOOKSELLERS.
Contents (not listed in original)
* The Tyrolese Song of Liberty
* The Castilian Maid
* Canadian Boat Song
* Oh! rest thee, Babe
* The Gipsy Wanderer
* Farewell
* God save the King
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
# Twa weavers/Canadian boat song

A CANADIAN BOAT SONG.
Faintly as tolls the ev’ning chime, Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time, Soon as the woods on shore look dim, We’ll sing at Saint Ann’s our parting hymn. Row, brother’s, row, the stream run’s fast The rapids are near, and the day-light’s past
​Why should we yet our sail unfurl?
There is not a breath the blue wave to curl.
But when the wind blows off the shore,
Oh, sweetly we’ll rest our weary oar. Blow, breezes, blow, &c.
Utawa tide, this trembling moon
Shall see us float over thy surges soon:
Saint of this green isle, hear our prayer,
Grant us cool heavens and favouring air, Blow, breezes, blow, &c.
# The Sentimental Songster/Canadian Boat Song

CANADIAN BOAT SONG.
Faintly as tolls the evening chime, Our voices keep tune, and our oars keep time Soon as the woods on shore look dim, We’ll sing at St. Ann’s our parting hymn. Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast, The rapids are near, and the day-light's pas
​Why should we yet our sail unfurl. There is not a breath the blue wave to curl. But when the wind blows off the shore, Oh! sweetly we’ll rest our weary oar. Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs (illegible text), The rapids are near, and the daylight's past.
Otawa’s tide; this trembling moon Shall see us float o'er thy surges soon! Saint of this green isle! hear our prayers, Oh! grant us cool heavens and favouring ales: Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast, The rapids are near, and the daylight’s past!
# Seraphim/Canadian Boat Song

CANADIAN BOAT SONG
Faintly as tolls the evening chime, Our voices keep tune, and our oars keep time, Soon as the woods on shore look dim, We'll sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn. Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast, The rapids are near, and the day-light's past.
​Why should we yet our sail unfurl? There is not a breathe the blue wave to curl; But when the wind blows of the shore, Oh! sweetly we'll rest our weary oar, Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast, The rapids are near, and the daylight's pas
Utawa's tide; this trembling moon Shall see us float o'er thy surges soon! Saint of this green isle! hear our prayers, Oh! grant us cool heavens and favouring airs Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast, The rapids are near, and the daylight's past!
# Seven English Popular Songs/The Tyrolese Song of Liberty

ENGLISH SONGS.
THE TYROLESE SONG OF LIBERTY.
<poem> Merrily every bosom boundeth,
       Merrily oh! merrily oh!
Where the Sang of Freedom soundeth, Merrily oh! merrily oh! There the warrior’s arms shed more splendour, There the maiden’s charms shine more tender,
    Every joy the land surroundeth,
       Merrily oh! merrily oh!
Wearily every bosom pineth,
       Wearily oh! wearily oh!
Where the bond of slavery twineth, Wearily oh! wearily oh! There the warrior’s dart hath no fleetness, There the maiden’s heart hath no sweetness,
    Every flower of life declineth,
          Wearily oh! wearily oh!
Cheerily then from hill and valley.
       Cheerily oh! cheerily oh!
Like your native fountains sally,
       Cheerily oh! cheerily oh! ​If a glorious death won by bravery,
Sweeter be than breath sigh’d in slavery,
    Round the Flag of Freedom rally,
       Cheerily oh! cheerily oh!
THE CASTILIAN MAID.
Oh! remember the time in Lamancha’s shades, When our moments so blissfully flew When you’d call’d me the flower of Castiliain maids, And I blush’d to be call’d so by you, When I taught you to warble the gay Seguadille, And to danse to the light Castanet. Oh! never, dear youth, let you roam where you will, The delight of those moments forget.
They tell me, you lovers from Erin’s green isle, Every hour a new passion can feel; And that soon in the light of some lovlier smile You’ll forget the poor maid of Castile. But they know not how brave in the battle you are, Or they never could think you would rove; For ’tis always the spirit, most gallant in war, That is fondest and truest in love.
CANADIAN BOAT SONG.
<poem> Faintly as tolls the evening chime, Our voices keep tune, and our oars beat time;
# Seven English Popular Songs/The Castilian Maid

THE CASTILIAN MAID.
CANADIAN BOAT SONG.
# Seven English Popular Songs/Canadian Boat Song

CANADIAN BOAT SONG.
# Seven English Popular Songs/Oh! rest thee, Babe

OH! REST THEE, BABE.
# Seven English Popular Songs/The Gipsy Wanderer

THE GIPSY WANDERER.
# A Canadian Boat Song

* "Canadian boat song" in Twa weavers (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Glasgow
* "Canadian Boat Song" in The Sentimental Songster (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Glasgow
* "Row, Brothers, Row", in Grog (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Glasgow
* "Canadian Boat Song" in Seraphim (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Glasgow
* "Canadian Boat Song", in Seven English Popular Songs (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Kilmarnock
# Seven English Popular Songs/God save the King

GOD SAVE THE KING.
FINIS.
# God Save the King

* related portals: United Kingdom, National anthems
* sister projects: Wikipedia article, Commons gallery, Commons category, Wikidata item
National anthem of the United Kingdom and of several other Commonwealth countries. Frequently attributed to Henry Carey (both words and music), it was published anonymously in October 1745 in The Gentleman's Magazine.
* "God Save the King" in The British Volunteers (1803), a Scottish chapbook printed in Glasgow
* "God save the King", in Seven English Popular Songs (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Kilmarnock
* "God Save the Queen," in A First Series of Hymns and Songs (1853).
* "National Anthem" in A Selection of Hymns, Used in the Parish Church, and the Church of the Holy Trinity, Ulverston (1853)
* "God Save the King," in A Dictionary of Music and Musicians (1900).
* "The National Anthem" in Hymns for the Coronation of His Majesty King Edward VII (1902).
* "God Save the King" in The Canadian Soldiers' Song Book (1916).
* "Anglo-American Anthem", combined with "My Country 'Tis of Thee", in The Canadian Soldiers' Song Book (1916).
* "God Save the King", in The National Anthems of the Allies (1917).
# Seven English Popular Songs/Farewell

FAREWELL.
# Grog/Row, Brothers, Row

ROW, BROTHERS, ROW.
# On a Bank of Flowers

* "On a Bank of Flowers", in Grog (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Glasgow
* "Willy and Nelly", in The Linnet (1819), a chapbook printed in Falkirk
* "On a Bank of Flowers", in The Poetical Works of Robert Burns (1887), edited by Alexander Smith
# The hero of Ballinacrazy/The Year That's Awa

THE YEAR THAT’S AWA.
O here’s to the year that’s awa, We’ll drink it in strong and in sma’; And here's to ilk bonny young lassie we Endearing the year that’s awa. (lo’ ed,
O here’s to the soldier wha bled, To the sailor wha bravely did fa’; Their fame is on high, though their spi- rits have fled On the wings of the year that’s awa.
O here’s fo the friend we can trust When the storms of adversity blaw; May they join in our sorrow, and be nea- rest our hearts, Nor depart like the year that’s awa.
# The hero of Ballinacrazy

THE
Hero of Ballinacrazy.
FLY NOT YET.
The Tempest.
The Year that’s awa.
EDINBURGH:
PRINTED FOR THE BOOKSELLERS,
1823.
Poems: (not listed in original)
* The Hero of Ballinacrazy
* Fly Not Yet
* The Tempest
* The Year That's Awa
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 hero of Ballinacrazy/Fly Not Yet

FLY NOT YET.
Fly not yet,’tis just the hour When pleasure like the midnight flower, That scorns the eye of vulgar light, Begins to bloom for sons of night, ‘And maids who love the moon. ‘Twas just to bless these hours of shade That beauty and the moon were made; ‘Tis then the soft attractions glowing, Set the tides and goblets flowing Oh stay! Oh stay! Joy so seldom weaves a chain Like this to-night, that oh! ‘tis pain To break its link so soon.
Fly not yet, the fount that’s played, In days of old through Ammon’s shade, Though icy cold by day it ran, Yet, like the sons of mirth, began To burn, when night was near: And so should woman’s heart and looks By day be cold as winter brooke, Nor kindle till the night returning, Bring the genial hour for burning: Oh stay! Oh stay! When did morning ever break ​And find such beaming eyes awak As those which sparkle here.