Satyrane. His loving mother came upon a day The fearefull dame all quaked at the sight, And then to him these womanish words gan say: For love of me leave off this dreadfull play; To dally thus with death is no fit toy: Go, find some other play-fellowes, mine own sweet boy." SPENSER. Jack. Jack his own merit sees; this gives him pride, ELEGANT EXTRACTS. Satyranus. Μήτηρ πρὸς ὕλην ἦλθεν εὐφιλής ποτε τέκνου ποθοῦσα γλυκυτάτην ὁμιλίαν· οὕτω δ ̓ ἰοῦσα ξυνέτυχεν τῷ παιδίῳ τότ ̓ ὄντι θήρας ἀγροτέρων τ' ἀφ ̓ ἡδονῶν, κἀκεῖ κατ ̓ αὐτὸν ἤλλετ ̓ ἐμμανἢ δρόμον ὀργαῖς λέαινα βαρυβρόμοισιν ἁρπαγὰς φιλῶν νεοσσῶν ἐγκαλοῦσα τῷ βρέφει αὐτὸν δ ̓ ἰδοῦσαν ἄτρομον οὐ παιδὸς δίκην σκύμνους ἀτάλλοντ ̓ ἀγρίοις βραχίοσι τρόμος μέγας προσῆλθεν, ὥστε πρὸς φυγὴν βάσει δρομαίᾳ νωτίσαι δέους ὕπο· ἕως ἐγείρουσ ̓ ἐκ κενῆς ὀρρωδίας στοργὴ γυναῖκ ̓ ἔπεισε προσμεῖναι μόγις ταῦτ ̓ οὖν ἔλεξεν ἐκ γυναικείας φρενός ὦ τῆς τεκούσης ἐλπὶς ἠδὲ χαρμονή, ταύτης ἀρείας παιδίας σε λίσσομαι λῆξαι, ταλαίνης εἴ τί σοι μητρὸς μέλει οὐ πρὸς βρέφους ἄθυρμα ποιεῖσθαι μόρον σὺ δ ̓ οὖν τιν ̓ ἄλλον εὑρὲ συμπαίκτην, τέκνον. G. J. Κ. Otho. Ut non est tolerandus Otho, ut sine iure superbit Vir unus ille ceteris ineptior. Virtutes videt ipse suas Otho; iure superbit Vir unus ille ceteris sagacior. Κ. FF Lycidas. Weep no more, woful shepherds, weep no more, Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor; And yet anon repairs his drooping head, And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high, Through the dear might of Him that walk'd the waves With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves, In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love. MILTON. Dirge. Fear no more the heat o' the sun, Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages. Fear no more the frown o' the great; To thee the reed is as the oak. SHAKSPEARE. Lycidas. Desine, pastorum chorus, aegri desine luctus : Qvi qvondam pelagi tumidum incessit super aequor : Rivorum lapsus, lavit udos nectare crines, Naenia. Noli iam nimios timere soles, Ne minas timeas potentiorum; R. B. R. S. An Chloe. Chloe, kennst du noch die Stunde, Als ich fest an deinem Munde, O, der Liebe Schauder bebte Eines ganzen Lebens Freuden, Blumenduft und Grün der Weiden; Zephyr, Nachtigallgesang; Junger Haine froh Getümmel ; Jeder selige Genuß; Ruhm und Glück und Erd' und Himmel, Alles war in diesem Kuß. J. G. JACOBI. Egle. Ægle, beauty and poet, has two little crimes; She makes her own face, but does not make her rhymes. BYRON. |