King Henry VIII translation by Michael R Burch

Love ever green attributed to King Henry VIII translation by Michael R. Burch If Henry VIII wrote the poem, he didn’t quite live up to it! – MRB Green groweth the holly, so doth the ivy. Though winter’s blasts blow never so high, green groweth the holly. As the holly groweth green and never changeth hue, so am I, and ever have been, unto my lady true. Adew! Mine own lady. Adew! My special. Who hath my heart truly, Be sure, and ever shall. from The Testament of John Lydgate 15th century loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Behold, o man! lift up your eyes and see What mortal pain I suffer for your trespass. With piteous voice I cry and say to thee: Behold my wounds, behold my bloody face, Behold the rebukes that do me such menace, Behold my enemies that do me so despise, And how that I, to reform thee to grace, Was like a lamb offered in sacrifice. Vox ultima Crucis by John Lydgate translation by Michael R. Burch TARRY no longer; toward thine heritage Haste on thy way, and be of right good cheer. Go each day onward on thy pilgrimage; Think how short a time thou hast abided here. Thy place is built above the stars so clear, No earthly palace wrought in such stately wise. Come on, my friend, my brother must enter! For thee I offered my blood in sacrifice. Les Espagnols-sur-mer by Laurence Minot translation by Michael R. Burch I would not spare to speak, if I wished success, of strong men with weapons in worthy armor, who were driven to deeds and now lie dead. Who sailed the seas, fishes to feed. Fell fishes they feed now, for all their vaunting fanfare; for it was with the waning of the moon that they came there. They sailed forth into perils on a summer’s tide, with trumpets and tabors and exalted pride. ... When they sailed westward, although they were mighty in war, their bulwarks, their anchors were of no avail. For mighty men of the west drew nearer and nearer and they stumbled into the snare, because they had no fear. For those who fail to flee become prey in the end and those who once plundered, perish. Pleasure it is by William Cornish translation by Michael R. Burch Pleasure it is, to her, indeed. The birds sing; the deer in the dale, the sheep in the vale, the new corn springing. God’s allowance for sustenance, his gifts to man. Thus we always give him praise and thank him, then. And thank him, then. Keywords/Tags: Henry VIII, holly, ivy, John Lydgate, brother, Minot, love, heart, winter, war, time, birds