Dost know whom thou'rt to sup with, friend?—I'll tell thee;With gladiators, not with peaceful guests;Instead of knives we're arm'd with naked swords,And swallow firebrands in the place of food:Daggers of Crete are served us for confections,And for a plate of pease a fricasseeOf shatter'd spears: the cushions we repose onAre shields and breastplates, at our feet a pileOf slings and arrows, and our foreheads wreath'dWith military ensigns, not with myrtle. —Cumberland.
Dost know whom thou'rt to sup with, friend?—I'll tell thee;With gladiators, not with peaceful guests;Instead of knives we're arm'd with naked swords,And swallow firebrands in the place of food:Daggers of Crete are served us for confections,And for a plate of pease a fricasseeOf shatter'd spears: the cushions we repose onAre shields and breastplates, at our feet a pileOf slings and arrows, and our foreheads wreath'dWith military ensigns, not with myrtle. —Cumberland.
Dost know whom thou'rt to sup with, friend?—I'll tell thee;With gladiators, not with peaceful guests;Instead of knives we're arm'd with naked swords,And swallow firebrands in the place of food:Daggers of Crete are served us for confections,And for a plate of pease a fricasseeOf shatter'd spears: the cushions we repose onAre shields and breastplates, at our feet a pileOf slings and arrows, and our foreheads wreath'dWith military ensigns, not with myrtle. —Cumberland.
Dost know whom thou'rt to sup with, friend?—I'll tell thee;With gladiators, not with peaceful guests;Instead of knives we're arm'd with naked swords,And swallow firebrands in the place of food:Daggers of Crete are served us for confections,And for a plate of pease a fricasseeOf shatter'd spears: the cushions we repose onAre shields and breastplates, at our feet a pileOf slings and arrows, and our foreheads wreath'dWith military ensigns, not with myrtle. —Cumberland.
Dost know whom thou'rt to sup with, friend?—I'll tell thee;
With gladiators, not with peaceful guests;
Instead of knives we're arm'd with naked swords,
And swallow firebrands in the place of food:
Daggers of Crete are served us for confections,
And for a plate of pease a fricassee
Of shatter'd spears: the cushions we repose on
Are shields and breastplates, at our feet a pile
Of slings and arrows, and our foreheads wreath'd
With military ensigns, not with myrtle. —Cumberland.
The same.
Know'st thou with whom thou hast to deal?On sharpen'd swords we make our meal;The dripping torch, snapdragon-wise,Our burning beverage supplies;And Cretic shafts, as sweetmeats stored,Form the dessert upon our board,With tid-bits of split javelin:Pillow'd on breastplates we recline;Strew'd at our feet are slings and bows,And crown'd with catapults our brows.—Wrangham.
Know'st thou with whom thou hast to deal?On sharpen'd swords we make our meal;The dripping torch, snapdragon-wise,Our burning beverage supplies;And Cretic shafts, as sweetmeats stored,Form the dessert upon our board,With tid-bits of split javelin:Pillow'd on breastplates we recline;Strew'd at our feet are slings and bows,And crown'd with catapults our brows.—Wrangham.
Know'st thou with whom thou hast to deal?On sharpen'd swords we make our meal;The dripping torch, snapdragon-wise,Our burning beverage supplies;And Cretic shafts, as sweetmeats stored,Form the dessert upon our board,With tid-bits of split javelin:Pillow'd on breastplates we recline;Strew'd at our feet are slings and bows,And crown'd with catapults our brows.—Wrangham.
Know'st thou with whom thou hast to deal?On sharpen'd swords we make our meal;The dripping torch, snapdragon-wise,Our burning beverage supplies;And Cretic shafts, as sweetmeats stored,Form the dessert upon our board,With tid-bits of split javelin:Pillow'd on breastplates we recline;Strew'd at our feet are slings and bows,And crown'd with catapults our brows.—Wrangham.
Know'st thou with whom thou hast to deal?
On sharpen'd swords we make our meal;
The dripping torch, snapdragon-wise,
Our burning beverage supplies;
And Cretic shafts, as sweetmeats stored,
Form the dessert upon our board,
With tid-bits of split javelin:
Pillow'd on breastplates we recline;
Strew'd at our feet are slings and bows,
And crown'd with catapults our brows.—Wrangham.
The same.
Herken my word: wote thou, leve brother min,Thou shulde in certaine thys daie wyth us din.Bright swerdes and eke browne our vittaile been;Torches we glot for sowle, that fyerie bren.Eftsone the page doth sette upon our bord,Yfette fro Crete, kene arwes long and broad;No fetches do we ete, but speres shente,That gadred ben fro blood ydrenched bente.The silver targe, and perced habergeon,Been that, whan sonne is set, we lig upon.On bowes reste our fete whan that we slepe,With katapultes crownde, so heie hem clepe.—W. W.
Herken my word: wote thou, leve brother min,Thou shulde in certaine thys daie wyth us din.Bright swerdes and eke browne our vittaile been;Torches we glot for sowle, that fyerie bren.Eftsone the page doth sette upon our bord,Yfette fro Crete, kene arwes long and broad;No fetches do we ete, but speres shente,That gadred ben fro blood ydrenched bente.The silver targe, and perced habergeon,Been that, whan sonne is set, we lig upon.On bowes reste our fete whan that we slepe,With katapultes crownde, so heie hem clepe.—W. W.
Herken my word: wote thou, leve brother min,Thou shulde in certaine thys daie wyth us din.Bright swerdes and eke browne our vittaile been;Torches we glot for sowle, that fyerie bren.Eftsone the page doth sette upon our bord,Yfette fro Crete, kene arwes long and broad;No fetches do we ete, but speres shente,That gadred ben fro blood ydrenched bente.The silver targe, and perced habergeon,Been that, whan sonne is set, we lig upon.On bowes reste our fete whan that we slepe,With katapultes crownde, so heie hem clepe.—W. W.
Herken my word: wote thou, leve brother min,Thou shulde in certaine thys daie wyth us din.Bright swerdes and eke browne our vittaile been;Torches we glot for sowle, that fyerie bren.Eftsone the page doth sette upon our bord,Yfette fro Crete, kene arwes long and broad;No fetches do we ete, but speres shente,That gadred ben fro blood ydrenched bente.The silver targe, and perced habergeon,Been that, whan sonne is set, we lig upon.On bowes reste our fete whan that we slepe,With katapultes crownde, so heie hem clepe.—W. W.
Herken my word: wote thou, leve brother min,
Thou shulde in certaine thys daie wyth us din.
Bright swerdes and eke browne our vittaile been;
Torches we glot for sowle, that fyerie bren.
Eftsone the page doth sette upon our bord,
Yfette fro Crete, kene arwes long and broad;
No fetches do we ete, but speres shente,
That gadred ben fro blood ydrenched bente.
The silver targe, and perced habergeon,
Been that, whan sonne is set, we lig upon.
On bowes reste our fete whan that we slepe,
With katapultes crownde, so heie hem clepe.—W. W.
Alcæus.(Book x. § 35, p. 679.)
To be bow'd by grief is folly;Nought is gain'd by melancholy;Better than the pain of thinkingIs to steep the sense in drinking. —Bland.
To be bow'd by grief is folly;Nought is gain'd by melancholy;Better than the pain of thinkingIs to steep the sense in drinking. —Bland.
To be bow'd by grief is folly;Nought is gain'd by melancholy;Better than the pain of thinkingIs to steep the sense in drinking. —Bland.
To be bow'd by grief is folly;Nought is gain'd by melancholy;Better than the pain of thinkingIs to steep the sense in drinking. —Bland.
To be bow'd by grief is folly;
Nought is gain'd by melancholy;
Better than the pain of thinking
Is to steep the sense in drinking. —Bland.
Alexis.(Book x. § 71, p. 709.)
A.A thing exists which nor immortal is,Nor mortal, but to both belongs, and livesAs neither god nor man does. Every day'Tis born anew and dies. No eye can see it,And yet to all 'tis known.B.A plague upon you!You bore me with your riddles.A.Still, all thisIs plain and easy.B.What then can it be?A.Sleep—that puts all our cares and pains to flight. —J. A. St. John.
A.A thing exists which nor immortal is,Nor mortal, but to both belongs, and livesAs neither god nor man does. Every day'Tis born anew and dies. No eye can see it,And yet to all 'tis known.B.A plague upon you!You bore me with your riddles.A.Still, all thisIs plain and easy.B.What then can it be?A.Sleep—that puts all our cares and pains to flight. —J. A. St. John.
A.A thing exists which nor immortal is,Nor mortal, but to both belongs, and livesAs neither god nor man does. Every day'Tis born anew and dies. No eye can see it,And yet to all 'tis known.B.A plague upon you!You bore me with your riddles.A.Still, all thisIs plain and easy.B.What then can it be?A.Sleep—that puts all our cares and pains to flight. —J. A. St. John.
A.A thing exists which nor immortal is,Nor mortal, but to both belongs, and livesAs neither god nor man does. Every day'Tis born anew and dies. No eye can see it,And yet to all 'tis known.B.A plague upon you!You bore me with your riddles.A.Still, all thisIs plain and easy.B.What then can it be?A.Sleep—that puts all our cares and pains to flight. —J. A. St. John.
A.A thing exists which nor immortal is,
Nor mortal, but to both belongs, and lives
As neither god nor man does. Every day
'Tis born anew and dies. No eye can see it,
And yet to all 'tis known.
B.A plague upon you!
You bore me with your riddles.
A.Still, all this
Is plain and easy.
B.What then can it be?
A.Sleep—that puts all our cares and pains to flight. —J. A. St. John.
The same.
Nor mortal fate, nor yet immortal thine,Amalgam rare of human and divine;Still ever new thou comest, soon againTo vanish, fleeting as the phantom train;Ever invisible to earthly eye,Yet known to each one most familiarly.—F. Metcalfe.
Nor mortal fate, nor yet immortal thine,Amalgam rare of human and divine;Still ever new thou comest, soon againTo vanish, fleeting as the phantom train;Ever invisible to earthly eye,Yet known to each one most familiarly.—F. Metcalfe.
Nor mortal fate, nor yet immortal thine,Amalgam rare of human and divine;Still ever new thou comest, soon againTo vanish, fleeting as the phantom train;Ever invisible to earthly eye,Yet known to each one most familiarly.—F. Metcalfe.
Nor mortal fate, nor yet immortal thine,Amalgam rare of human and divine;Still ever new thou comest, soon againTo vanish, fleeting as the phantom train;Ever invisible to earthly eye,Yet known to each one most familiarly.—F. Metcalfe.
Nor mortal fate, nor yet immortal thine,
Amalgam rare of human and divine;
Still ever new thou comest, soon again
To vanish, fleeting as the phantom train;
Ever invisible to earthly eye,
Yet known to each one most familiarly.—F. Metcalfe.
Eubulus.(Book x. § 71, p. 710.)
A.What is it that, while young, is plump and heavy,But, being full grown, is light, and wingless mountsUpon the courier winds, and foils the sight?B.TheThistle's Beard; for this at first sticks fastTo the green seed, which, ripe and dry, falls offUpon the cradling breeze, or, upwards puff'dBy playful urchins, sails along the air.—J. A. St. John.
A.What is it that, while young, is plump and heavy,But, being full grown, is light, and wingless mountsUpon the courier winds, and foils the sight?B.TheThistle's Beard; for this at first sticks fastTo the green seed, which, ripe and dry, falls offUpon the cradling breeze, or, upwards puff'dBy playful urchins, sails along the air.—J. A. St. John.
A.What is it that, while young, is plump and heavy,But, being full grown, is light, and wingless mountsUpon the courier winds, and foils the sight?B.TheThistle's Beard; for this at first sticks fastTo the green seed, which, ripe and dry, falls offUpon the cradling breeze, or, upwards puff'dBy playful urchins, sails along the air.—J. A. St. John.
A.What is it that, while young, is plump and heavy,But, being full grown, is light, and wingless mountsUpon the courier winds, and foils the sight?B.TheThistle's Beard; for this at first sticks fastTo the green seed, which, ripe and dry, falls offUpon the cradling breeze, or, upwards puff'dBy playful urchins, sails along the air.—J. A. St. John.
A.What is it that, while young, is plump and heavy,
But, being full grown, is light, and wingless mounts
Upon the courier winds, and foils the sight?
B.TheThistle's Beard; for this at first sticks fast
To the green seed, which, ripe and dry, falls off
Upon the cradling breeze, or, upwards puff'd
By playful urchins, sails along the air.—J. A. St. John.
Antiphanes.(Book x. § 73, p. 711.)
There is a female which within her bosomCarries her young, that, mute, in fact, yet speak,And make their voice heard on the howling waves,Or wildest continent. They will converseEven with the absent, and inform the deaf. —J. A. St. John.
There is a female which within her bosomCarries her young, that, mute, in fact, yet speak,And make their voice heard on the howling waves,Or wildest continent. They will converseEven with the absent, and inform the deaf. —J. A. St. John.
There is a female which within her bosomCarries her young, that, mute, in fact, yet speak,And make their voice heard on the howling waves,Or wildest continent. They will converseEven with the absent, and inform the deaf. —J. A. St. John.
There is a female which within her bosomCarries her young, that, mute, in fact, yet speak,And make their voice heard on the howling waves,Or wildest continent. They will converseEven with the absent, and inform the deaf. —J. A. St. John.
There is a female which within her bosom
Carries her young, that, mute, in fact, yet speak,
And make their voice heard on the howling waves,
Or wildest continent. They will converse
Even with the absent, and inform the deaf. —J. A. St. John.
The same.
Know'st thou the creature, that a tiny broodWithin her bosom keeps securely mew'd?Though voiceless all, beyond the ocean wideTo distant realms their still small voices glide.Far, far away, whome'er t' address they seekWill understand, yet no one hears them speak. —F. Metcalfe.
Know'st thou the creature, that a tiny broodWithin her bosom keeps securely mew'd?Though voiceless all, beyond the ocean wideTo distant realms their still small voices glide.Far, far away, whome'er t' address they seekWill understand, yet no one hears them speak. —F. Metcalfe.
Know'st thou the creature, that a tiny broodWithin her bosom keeps securely mew'd?Though voiceless all, beyond the ocean wideTo distant realms their still small voices glide.Far, far away, whome'er t' address they seekWill understand, yet no one hears them speak. —F. Metcalfe.
Know'st thou the creature, that a tiny broodWithin her bosom keeps securely mew'd?Though voiceless all, beyond the ocean wideTo distant realms their still small voices glide.Far, far away, whome'er t' address they seekWill understand, yet no one hears them speak. —F. Metcalfe.
Know'st thou the creature, that a tiny brood
Within her bosom keeps securely mew'd?
Though voiceless all, beyond the ocean wide
To distant realms their still small voices glide.
Far, far away, whome'er t' address they seek
Will understand, yet no one hears them speak. —F. Metcalfe.
Theodectes.(Book x. § 75, p. 713.)
A thing whose match, or in the depths profoundOf ocean, or on earth, can ne'er be found;Cast in no mortal mould its growth of limbDame Nature orders by the strangest whim.'Tis born, and lo! a giant form appears;Toward middle age a smaller size it wears;And now again, its day of life nigh o'er,How wonderful gigantic as before. —F. Metcalfe.
A thing whose match, or in the depths profoundOf ocean, or on earth, can ne'er be found;Cast in no mortal mould its growth of limbDame Nature orders by the strangest whim.'Tis born, and lo! a giant form appears;Toward middle age a smaller size it wears;And now again, its day of life nigh o'er,How wonderful gigantic as before. —F. Metcalfe.
A thing whose match, or in the depths profoundOf ocean, or on earth, can ne'er be found;Cast in no mortal mould its growth of limbDame Nature orders by the strangest whim.'Tis born, and lo! a giant form appears;Toward middle age a smaller size it wears;And now again, its day of life nigh o'er,How wonderful gigantic as before. —F. Metcalfe.
A thing whose match, or in the depths profoundOf ocean, or on earth, can ne'er be found;Cast in no mortal mould its growth of limbDame Nature orders by the strangest whim.'Tis born, and lo! a giant form appears;Toward middle age a smaller size it wears;And now again, its day of life nigh o'er,How wonderful gigantic as before. —F. Metcalfe.
A thing whose match, or in the depths profound
Of ocean, or on earth, can ne'er be found;
Cast in no mortal mould its growth of limb
Dame Nature orders by the strangest whim.
'Tis born, and lo! a giant form appears;
Toward middle age a smaller size it wears;
And now again, its day of life nigh o'er,
How wonderful gigantic as before. —F. Metcalfe.
Theodectes.(Book x. § 75, p. 713.)
We're sisters twain, one dying bears the other:She too expires, and so brings forth her mother. —F. Metcalfe.
We're sisters twain, one dying bears the other:She too expires, and so brings forth her mother. —F. Metcalfe.
We're sisters twain, one dying bears the other:She too expires, and so brings forth her mother. —F. Metcalfe.
We're sisters twain, one dying bears the other:She too expires, and so brings forth her mother. —F. Metcalfe.
We're sisters twain, one dying bears the other:
She too expires, and so brings forth her mother. —F. Metcalfe.
Xenophanes.(Book xi. § 7, p. 729.)
The ground is swept, and the triclinium clean,The hands are purified, the goblets tooWell rinsed, each guest upon his forehead bearsA wreathed flow'ry crown; from slender vaseA willing youth presents to each in turnA sweet and costly perfume; while the bowl,Emblem of joy and social mirth, stands by,Fill'd to the brim; another pours out wineOf most delicious flavour, breathing roundFragrance of flowers, and honey newly made;So grateful to the sense, that none refuse;While odoriferous gums fill all the room.Water is served too, cold, and fresh, and clear;Bread, saffron tinged, that looks like leaves of gold.The board is gaily spread with honey pure,And savoury cheese. The altar, too, which standsFull in the centre, crown'd with flow'ry wreaths;The house resounds with music and with song,With songs of grateful praise, such as becomeThe wise and good to offer to the gods,In chaste and modest phrase. They humbly ask,Pouring their free libations, to preserveA firm and even mind; to do no wrong,But equal justice to dispense to all;A task more easy, more delightful far,Than to command, to slander, or oppress.At such repasts each guest may safely drinkAs much as suits his sober appetite,Then unattended seek his home, unlessHis feeble age requires assistance. HimAbove all others let us praise, who whileThe cheerful cup goes round, shall charm the guestsWith free recital of acts worthy praise,And fit to be remember'd; that inspireThe soul to valour, and the love of fame,The meed of virtuous action. Far from usThe war of Titans; or the bloody strifeOf the seditious Centaurs; such examplesHave neither use nor profit—wiser farTo look to brighter patterns that instruct,And lead the mind to great and good pursuits. —Anon.
The ground is swept, and the triclinium clean,The hands are purified, the goblets tooWell rinsed, each guest upon his forehead bearsA wreathed flow'ry crown; from slender vaseA willing youth presents to each in turnA sweet and costly perfume; while the bowl,Emblem of joy and social mirth, stands by,Fill'd to the brim; another pours out wineOf most delicious flavour, breathing roundFragrance of flowers, and honey newly made;So grateful to the sense, that none refuse;While odoriferous gums fill all the room.Water is served too, cold, and fresh, and clear;Bread, saffron tinged, that looks like leaves of gold.The board is gaily spread with honey pure,And savoury cheese. The altar, too, which standsFull in the centre, crown'd with flow'ry wreaths;The house resounds with music and with song,With songs of grateful praise, such as becomeThe wise and good to offer to the gods,In chaste and modest phrase. They humbly ask,Pouring their free libations, to preserveA firm and even mind; to do no wrong,But equal justice to dispense to all;A task more easy, more delightful far,Than to command, to slander, or oppress.At such repasts each guest may safely drinkAs much as suits his sober appetite,Then unattended seek his home, unlessHis feeble age requires assistance. HimAbove all others let us praise, who whileThe cheerful cup goes round, shall charm the guestsWith free recital of acts worthy praise,And fit to be remember'd; that inspireThe soul to valour, and the love of fame,The meed of virtuous action. Far from usThe war of Titans; or the bloody strifeOf the seditious Centaurs; such examplesHave neither use nor profit—wiser farTo look to brighter patterns that instruct,And lead the mind to great and good pursuits. —Anon.
The ground is swept, and the triclinium clean,The hands are purified, the goblets tooWell rinsed, each guest upon his forehead bearsA wreathed flow'ry crown; from slender vaseA willing youth presents to each in turnA sweet and costly perfume; while the bowl,Emblem of joy and social mirth, stands by,Fill'd to the brim; another pours out wineOf most delicious flavour, breathing roundFragrance of flowers, and honey newly made;So grateful to the sense, that none refuse;While odoriferous gums fill all the room.Water is served too, cold, and fresh, and clear;Bread, saffron tinged, that looks like leaves of gold.The board is gaily spread with honey pure,And savoury cheese. The altar, too, which standsFull in the centre, crown'd with flow'ry wreaths;The house resounds with music and with song,With songs of grateful praise, such as becomeThe wise and good to offer to the gods,In chaste and modest phrase. They humbly ask,Pouring their free libations, to preserveA firm and even mind; to do no wrong,But equal justice to dispense to all;A task more easy, more delightful far,Than to command, to slander, or oppress.At such repasts each guest may safely drinkAs much as suits his sober appetite,Then unattended seek his home, unlessHis feeble age requires assistance. HimAbove all others let us praise, who whileThe cheerful cup goes round, shall charm the guestsWith free recital of acts worthy praise,And fit to be remember'd; that inspireThe soul to valour, and the love of fame,The meed of virtuous action. Far from usThe war of Titans; or the bloody strifeOf the seditious Centaurs; such examplesHave neither use nor profit—wiser farTo look to brighter patterns that instruct,And lead the mind to great and good pursuits. —Anon.
The ground is swept, and the triclinium clean,The hands are purified, the goblets tooWell rinsed, each guest upon his forehead bearsA wreathed flow'ry crown; from slender vaseA willing youth presents to each in turnA sweet and costly perfume; while the bowl,Emblem of joy and social mirth, stands by,Fill'd to the brim; another pours out wineOf most delicious flavour, breathing roundFragrance of flowers, and honey newly made;So grateful to the sense, that none refuse;While odoriferous gums fill all the room.Water is served too, cold, and fresh, and clear;Bread, saffron tinged, that looks like leaves of gold.The board is gaily spread with honey pure,And savoury cheese. The altar, too, which standsFull in the centre, crown'd with flow'ry wreaths;The house resounds with music and with song,With songs of grateful praise, such as becomeThe wise and good to offer to the gods,In chaste and modest phrase. They humbly ask,Pouring their free libations, to preserveA firm and even mind; to do no wrong,But equal justice to dispense to all;A task more easy, more delightful far,Than to command, to slander, or oppress.At such repasts each guest may safely drinkAs much as suits his sober appetite,Then unattended seek his home, unlessHis feeble age requires assistance. HimAbove all others let us praise, who whileThe cheerful cup goes round, shall charm the guestsWith free recital of acts worthy praise,And fit to be remember'd; that inspireThe soul to valour, and the love of fame,The meed of virtuous action. Far from usThe war of Titans; or the bloody strifeOf the seditious Centaurs; such examplesHave neither use nor profit—wiser farTo look to brighter patterns that instruct,And lead the mind to great and good pursuits. —Anon.
The ground is swept, and the triclinium clean,
The hands are purified, the goblets too
Well rinsed, each guest upon his forehead bears
A wreathed flow'ry crown; from slender vase
A willing youth presents to each in turn
A sweet and costly perfume; while the bowl,
Emblem of joy and social mirth, stands by,
Fill'd to the brim; another pours out wine
Of most delicious flavour, breathing round
Fragrance of flowers, and honey newly made;
So grateful to the sense, that none refuse;
While odoriferous gums fill all the room.
Water is served too, cold, and fresh, and clear;
Bread, saffron tinged, that looks like leaves of gold.
The board is gaily spread with honey pure,
And savoury cheese. The altar, too, which stands
Full in the centre, crown'd with flow'ry wreaths;
The house resounds with music and with song,
With songs of grateful praise, such as become
The wise and good to offer to the gods,
In chaste and modest phrase. They humbly ask,
Pouring their free libations, to preserve
A firm and even mind; to do no wrong,
But equal justice to dispense to all;
A task more easy, more delightful far,
Than to command, to slander, or oppress.
At such repasts each guest may safely drink
As much as suits his sober appetite,
Then unattended seek his home, unless
His feeble age requires assistance. Him
Above all others let us praise, who while
The cheerful cup goes round, shall charm the guests
With free recital of acts worthy praise,
And fit to be remember'd; that inspire
The soul to valour, and the love of fame,
The meed of virtuous action. Far from us
The war of Titans; or the bloody strife
Of the seditious Centaurs; such examples
Have neither use nor profit—wiser far
To look to brighter patterns that instruct,
And lead the mind to great and good pursuits. —Anon.
Alexis.(Book xi. § 9, p. 731.)
Do you not know that by the term call'd life,We mean to give a softer tone to illsThat man is heir to? Whether I judge rightOr wrong in this, I'll not presume to say—Having reflected long and seriously,To this conclusion I am brought at last,That universal folly governs all;For in this little life of ours, we seemAs strangers that have left their native home.We make our first appearance from the realmsOf death and darkness, and emerge to light,And join th' assembly of our fellow-men—They who enjoy themselves the most, and drink,And laugh, and banish care, or pass the dayIn the soft blandishments of love, and leaveNo joy untasted, no delight untriedThat innocence and virtue may approve,And this gay festival afford, departCheerful, like guests contented, to their home. —Anon.
Do you not know that by the term call'd life,We mean to give a softer tone to illsThat man is heir to? Whether I judge rightOr wrong in this, I'll not presume to say—Having reflected long and seriously,To this conclusion I am brought at last,That universal folly governs all;For in this little life of ours, we seemAs strangers that have left their native home.We make our first appearance from the realmsOf death and darkness, and emerge to light,And join th' assembly of our fellow-men—They who enjoy themselves the most, and drink,And laugh, and banish care, or pass the dayIn the soft blandishments of love, and leaveNo joy untasted, no delight untriedThat innocence and virtue may approve,And this gay festival afford, departCheerful, like guests contented, to their home. —Anon.
Do you not know that by the term call'd life,We mean to give a softer tone to illsThat man is heir to? Whether I judge rightOr wrong in this, I'll not presume to say—Having reflected long and seriously,To this conclusion I am brought at last,That universal folly governs all;For in this little life of ours, we seemAs strangers that have left their native home.We make our first appearance from the realmsOf death and darkness, and emerge to light,And join th' assembly of our fellow-men—They who enjoy themselves the most, and drink,And laugh, and banish care, or pass the dayIn the soft blandishments of love, and leaveNo joy untasted, no delight untriedThat innocence and virtue may approve,And this gay festival afford, departCheerful, like guests contented, to their home. —Anon.
Do you not know that by the term call'd life,We mean to give a softer tone to illsThat man is heir to? Whether I judge rightOr wrong in this, I'll not presume to say—Having reflected long and seriously,To this conclusion I am brought at last,That universal folly governs all;For in this little life of ours, we seemAs strangers that have left their native home.We make our first appearance from the realmsOf death and darkness, and emerge to light,And join th' assembly of our fellow-men—They who enjoy themselves the most, and drink,And laugh, and banish care, or pass the dayIn the soft blandishments of love, and leaveNo joy untasted, no delight untriedThat innocence and virtue may approve,And this gay festival afford, departCheerful, like guests contented, to their home. —Anon.
Do you not know that by the term call'd life,
We mean to give a softer tone to ills
That man is heir to? Whether I judge right
Or wrong in this, I'll not presume to say—
Having reflected long and seriously,
To this conclusion I am brought at last,
That universal folly governs all;
For in this little life of ours, we seem
As strangers that have left their native home.
We make our first appearance from the realms
Of death and darkness, and emerge to light,
And join th' assembly of our fellow-men—
They who enjoy themselves the most, and drink,
And laugh, and banish care, or pass the day
In the soft blandishments of love, and leave
No joy untasted, no delight untried
That innocence and virtue may approve,
And this gay festival afford, depart
Cheerful, like guests contented, to their home. —Anon.
Sappho.(Book xi. § 9, p. 731.)
Come, Venus, come!Hither with thy golden cup,Where nectar-floated flowerets swim!Fill, fill the goblet up!These laughing lips shall kiss the brim—Come, Venus, come! —Anon.
Come, Venus, come!Hither with thy golden cup,Where nectar-floated flowerets swim!Fill, fill the goblet up!These laughing lips shall kiss the brim—Come, Venus, come! —Anon.
Come, Venus, come!Hither with thy golden cup,Where nectar-floated flowerets swim!Fill, fill the goblet up!These laughing lips shall kiss the brim—Come, Venus, come! —Anon.
Come, Venus, come!Hither with thy golden cup,Where nectar-floated flowerets swim!Fill, fill the goblet up!These laughing lips shall kiss the brim—Come, Venus, come! —Anon.
Come, Venus, come!
Hither with thy golden cup,
Where nectar-floated flowerets swim!
Fill, fill the goblet up!
These laughing lips shall kiss the brim—
Come, Venus, come! —Anon.
Pytheas.(Book xi. § 14, p. 734.)
Here jolly Pytheas lies,A right honest man, and wise,Who of goblets had very great store,Of amber, silver, gold,All glorious to behold,In number ne'er equall'd before. —J. A. St. John.
Here jolly Pytheas lies,A right honest man, and wise,Who of goblets had very great store,Of amber, silver, gold,All glorious to behold,In number ne'er equall'd before. —J. A. St. John.
Here jolly Pytheas lies,A right honest man, and wise,Who of goblets had very great store,Of amber, silver, gold,All glorious to behold,In number ne'er equall'd before. —J. A. St. John.
Here jolly Pytheas lies,A right honest man, and wise,Who of goblets had very great store,Of amber, silver, gold,All glorious to behold,In number ne'er equall'd before. —J. A. St. John.
Here jolly Pytheas lies,
A right honest man, and wise,
Who of goblets had very great store,
Of amber, silver, gold,
All glorious to behold,
In number ne'er equall'd before. —J. A. St. John.
Author of the Thebais.(Book xi. § 14, p. 735.)
Then Polyneices of the golden locks,Sprung from the gods, before his father placedA table all of silver, which had onceBeen Cadmus's, next fill'd the golden bowlWith richest wine. At this old Œdipus,Seeing the honour'd relics of his sireProfaned to vulgar uses, roused to anger,Pronounced fierce imprecations, wish'd his sonsMight live no more in amity together,But plunge in feuds and slaughters, and contendFor their inheritance: and the Furies heard. —J. A. St. John.
Then Polyneices of the golden locks,Sprung from the gods, before his father placedA table all of silver, which had onceBeen Cadmus's, next fill'd the golden bowlWith richest wine. At this old Œdipus,Seeing the honour'd relics of his sireProfaned to vulgar uses, roused to anger,Pronounced fierce imprecations, wish'd his sonsMight live no more in amity together,But plunge in feuds and slaughters, and contendFor their inheritance: and the Furies heard. —J. A. St. John.
Then Polyneices of the golden locks,Sprung from the gods, before his father placedA table all of silver, which had onceBeen Cadmus's, next fill'd the golden bowlWith richest wine. At this old Œdipus,Seeing the honour'd relics of his sireProfaned to vulgar uses, roused to anger,Pronounced fierce imprecations, wish'd his sonsMight live no more in amity together,But plunge in feuds and slaughters, and contendFor their inheritance: and the Furies heard. —J. A. St. John.
Then Polyneices of the golden locks,Sprung from the gods, before his father placedA table all of silver, which had onceBeen Cadmus's, next fill'd the golden bowlWith richest wine. At this old Œdipus,Seeing the honour'd relics of his sireProfaned to vulgar uses, roused to anger,Pronounced fierce imprecations, wish'd his sonsMight live no more in amity together,But plunge in feuds and slaughters, and contendFor their inheritance: and the Furies heard. —J. A. St. John.
Then Polyneices of the golden locks,
Sprung from the gods, before his father placed
A table all of silver, which had once
Been Cadmus's, next fill'd the golden bowl
With richest wine. At this old Œdipus,
Seeing the honour'd relics of his sire
Profaned to vulgar uses, roused to anger,
Pronounced fierce imprecations, wish'd his sons
Might live no more in amity together,
But plunge in feuds and slaughters, and contend
For their inheritance: and the Furies heard. —J. A. St. John.
(Book xi. § 19, p. 738.)
Troy's lofty towers by Grecians sack'd behold!Parrhasios' draught, by Mys engraved in gold. —J. A. St. John.
Troy's lofty towers by Grecians sack'd behold!Parrhasios' draught, by Mys engraved in gold. —J. A. St. John.
Troy's lofty towers by Grecians sack'd behold!Parrhasios' draught, by Mys engraved in gold. —J. A. St. John.
Troy's lofty towers by Grecians sack'd behold!Parrhasios' draught, by Mys engraved in gold. —J. A. St. John.
Troy's lofty towers by Grecians sack'd behold!
Parrhasios' draught, by Mys engraved in gold. —J. A. St. John.
Sopater.(Book xi. § 28, p. 742.)
'Tis sweet in early morn to cool the lipsWith pure fresh water from the gushing fount,Mingled with honey in the Baucalis,When one o'er night has made too free with wine,And feels sharp thirst. —J. A. St. John.
'Tis sweet in early morn to cool the lipsWith pure fresh water from the gushing fount,Mingled with honey in the Baucalis,When one o'er night has made too free with wine,And feels sharp thirst. —J. A. St. John.
'Tis sweet in early morn to cool the lipsWith pure fresh water from the gushing fount,Mingled with honey in the Baucalis,When one o'er night has made too free with wine,And feels sharp thirst. —J. A. St. John.
'Tis sweet in early morn to cool the lipsWith pure fresh water from the gushing fount,Mingled with honey in the Baucalis,When one o'er night has made too free with wine,And feels sharp thirst. —J. A. St. John.
'Tis sweet in early morn to cool the lips
With pure fresh water from the gushing fount,
Mingled with honey in the Baucalis,
When one o'er night has made too free with wine,
And feels sharp thirst. —J. A. St. John.
Alexis.(Book xi. § 30, p. 743.)
A.But let me first describe the cup; 'twas round,Old, broken-ear'd, and precious small besides,Having indeed some letters on't.B.Yes, letters;Eleven, and all of gold, forming the nameOf Saviour Zeus.A.Tush! no, some other god.—J. A. St. John.
A.But let me first describe the cup; 'twas round,Old, broken-ear'd, and precious small besides,Having indeed some letters on't.B.Yes, letters;Eleven, and all of gold, forming the nameOf Saviour Zeus.A.Tush! no, some other god.—J. A. St. John.
A.But let me first describe the cup; 'twas round,Old, broken-ear'd, and precious small besides,Having indeed some letters on't.B.Yes, letters;Eleven, and all of gold, forming the nameOf Saviour Zeus.A.Tush! no, some other god.—J. A. St. John.
A.But let me first describe the cup; 'twas round,Old, broken-ear'd, and precious small besides,Having indeed some letters on't.B.Yes, letters;Eleven, and all of gold, forming the nameOf Saviour Zeus.A.Tush! no, some other god.—J. A. St. John.
A.But let me first describe the cup; 'twas round,
Old, broken-ear'd, and precious small besides,
Having indeed some letters on't.
B.Yes, letters;
Eleven, and all of gold, forming the name
Of Saviour Zeus.
A.Tush! no, some other god.—J. A. St. John.
Damoxenus.(Book xi. § 35, p. 747.)
A.If this hold not enough, see, the boy comesBearing the Elephant!B.Immortal gods!What thing is that?A.A double-fountain'd cup,The workmanship of Alcon; it containsOnly three gallons. —J. A. St. John.
A.If this hold not enough, see, the boy comesBearing the Elephant!B.Immortal gods!What thing is that?A.A double-fountain'd cup,The workmanship of Alcon; it containsOnly three gallons. —J. A. St. John.
A.If this hold not enough, see, the boy comesBearing the Elephant!B.Immortal gods!What thing is that?A.A double-fountain'd cup,The workmanship of Alcon; it containsOnly three gallons. —J. A. St. John.
A.If this hold not enough, see, the boy comesBearing the Elephant!B.Immortal gods!What thing is that?A.A double-fountain'd cup,The workmanship of Alcon; it containsOnly three gallons. —J. A. St. John.
A.If this hold not enough, see, the boy comes
Bearing the Elephant!
B.Immortal gods!
What thing is that?
A.A double-fountain'd cup,
The workmanship of Alcon; it contains
Only three gallons. —J. A. St. John.
Pherecrates.(Book xi. § 62, p. 767.)
Remark, how wisely ancient art providesThe broad-brimm'd cup with flat expanded sides;A cup contrived for man's discreeter use,And sober portions of the generous juice:But woman's more ambitious thirsty soulSoon long'd to revel in the plenteous bowl;Deep and capacious as the swelling holdOf some stout bark she shaped the hollow mould,Then turning out a vessel like a tun,Simp'ring exclaim'd—Observe! I drink but one. —Cumberland.
Remark, how wisely ancient art providesThe broad-brimm'd cup with flat expanded sides;A cup contrived for man's discreeter use,And sober portions of the generous juice:But woman's more ambitious thirsty soulSoon long'd to revel in the plenteous bowl;Deep and capacious as the swelling holdOf some stout bark she shaped the hollow mould,Then turning out a vessel like a tun,Simp'ring exclaim'd—Observe! I drink but one. —Cumberland.
Remark, how wisely ancient art providesThe broad-brimm'd cup with flat expanded sides;A cup contrived for man's discreeter use,And sober portions of the generous juice:But woman's more ambitious thirsty soulSoon long'd to revel in the plenteous bowl;Deep and capacious as the swelling holdOf some stout bark she shaped the hollow mould,Then turning out a vessel like a tun,Simp'ring exclaim'd—Observe! I drink but one. —Cumberland.
Remark, how wisely ancient art providesThe broad-brimm'd cup with flat expanded sides;A cup contrived for man's discreeter use,And sober portions of the generous juice:But woman's more ambitious thirsty soulSoon long'd to revel in the plenteous bowl;Deep and capacious as the swelling holdOf some stout bark she shaped the hollow mould,Then turning out a vessel like a tun,Simp'ring exclaim'd—Observe! I drink but one. —Cumberland.
Remark, how wisely ancient art provides
The broad-brimm'd cup with flat expanded sides;
A cup contrived for man's discreeter use,
And sober portions of the generous juice:
But woman's more ambitious thirsty soul
Soon long'd to revel in the plenteous bowl;
Deep and capacious as the swelling hold
Of some stout bark she shaped the hollow mould,
Then turning out a vessel like a tun,
Simp'ring exclaim'd—Observe! I drink but one. —Cumberland.
Archilochus.(Book xi. § 66, p. 771.)
Come then, my friend, and seize the flask,And while the deck around us rolls,Dash we the cover from the cask,And crown with wine our flowing bowls.While the deep hold is tempest-tost,We'll strain bright nectar from the lees:For, though our freedom here be lost,We drink no water on the seas. —C. Merivale.
Come then, my friend, and seize the flask,And while the deck around us rolls,Dash we the cover from the cask,And crown with wine our flowing bowls.While the deep hold is tempest-tost,We'll strain bright nectar from the lees:For, though our freedom here be lost,We drink no water on the seas. —C. Merivale.
Come then, my friend, and seize the flask,And while the deck around us rolls,Dash we the cover from the cask,And crown with wine our flowing bowls.While the deep hold is tempest-tost,We'll strain bright nectar from the lees:For, though our freedom here be lost,We drink no water on the seas. —C. Merivale.
Come then, my friend, and seize the flask,And while the deck around us rolls,Dash we the cover from the cask,And crown with wine our flowing bowls.While the deep hold is tempest-tost,We'll strain bright nectar from the lees:For, though our freedom here be lost,We drink no water on the seas. —C. Merivale.
Come then, my friend, and seize the flask,
And while the deck around us rolls,
Dash we the cover from the cask,
And crown with wine our flowing bowls.
While the deep hold is tempest-tost,
We'll strain bright nectar from the lees:
For, though our freedom here be lost,
We drink no water on the seas. —C. Merivale.
Alexis.(Book xii. § 1, p. 818; iv. § 59, p. 265, &c.)
You, Sir, a Cyrenean, as I take you,Look at your sect of desperate voluptuaries;There's Diodorus—beggary is too good for him—A vast inheritance in two short years,Where is it? Squander'd, vanish'd, gone for ever:So rapid was his dissipation.—Stop!Stop! my good friend, you cry; not quite so fast!This man went fair and softly to his ruin;What talk you of two years? As many days,Two little days, were long enough to finishYoung Epicharides; he had some soul,And drove a merry pace to his undoing—Marry! if a kind surfeit would surprise us,Ere we sit down to earn it, such preventionWould come most opportune to save the troubleOf a sick stomach and an aching head:But whilst the punishment is out of sight,And the full chalice at our lips, we drink,Drink all to-day, to-morrow fast and mourn,Sick, and all o'er oppress'd with nauseous fumes;Such is the drunkard's curse, and Hell itselfCannot devise a greater. Oh that natureMight quit us of this overbearing burthen,This tyrant-god, the belly! take that from us,With all its bestial appetites, and man,Exonerated man, shall be all soul. —Cumberland.
You, Sir, a Cyrenean, as I take you,Look at your sect of desperate voluptuaries;There's Diodorus—beggary is too good for him—A vast inheritance in two short years,Where is it? Squander'd, vanish'd, gone for ever:So rapid was his dissipation.—Stop!Stop! my good friend, you cry; not quite so fast!This man went fair and softly to his ruin;What talk you of two years? As many days,Two little days, were long enough to finishYoung Epicharides; he had some soul,And drove a merry pace to his undoing—Marry! if a kind surfeit would surprise us,Ere we sit down to earn it, such preventionWould come most opportune to save the troubleOf a sick stomach and an aching head:But whilst the punishment is out of sight,And the full chalice at our lips, we drink,Drink all to-day, to-morrow fast and mourn,Sick, and all o'er oppress'd with nauseous fumes;Such is the drunkard's curse, and Hell itselfCannot devise a greater. Oh that natureMight quit us of this overbearing burthen,This tyrant-god, the belly! take that from us,With all its bestial appetites, and man,Exonerated man, shall be all soul. —Cumberland.
You, Sir, a Cyrenean, as I take you,Look at your sect of desperate voluptuaries;There's Diodorus—beggary is too good for him—A vast inheritance in two short years,Where is it? Squander'd, vanish'd, gone for ever:So rapid was his dissipation.—Stop!Stop! my good friend, you cry; not quite so fast!This man went fair and softly to his ruin;What talk you of two years? As many days,Two little days, were long enough to finishYoung Epicharides; he had some soul,And drove a merry pace to his undoing—Marry! if a kind surfeit would surprise us,Ere we sit down to earn it, such preventionWould come most opportune to save the troubleOf a sick stomach and an aching head:But whilst the punishment is out of sight,And the full chalice at our lips, we drink,Drink all to-day, to-morrow fast and mourn,Sick, and all o'er oppress'd with nauseous fumes;Such is the drunkard's curse, and Hell itselfCannot devise a greater. Oh that natureMight quit us of this overbearing burthen,This tyrant-god, the belly! take that from us,With all its bestial appetites, and man,Exonerated man, shall be all soul. —Cumberland.
You, Sir, a Cyrenean, as I take you,Look at your sect of desperate voluptuaries;There's Diodorus—beggary is too good for him—A vast inheritance in two short years,Where is it? Squander'd, vanish'd, gone for ever:So rapid was his dissipation.—Stop!Stop! my good friend, you cry; not quite so fast!This man went fair and softly to his ruin;What talk you of two years? As many days,Two little days, were long enough to finishYoung Epicharides; he had some soul,And drove a merry pace to his undoing—Marry! if a kind surfeit would surprise us,Ere we sit down to earn it, such preventionWould come most opportune to save the troubleOf a sick stomach and an aching head:But whilst the punishment is out of sight,And the full chalice at our lips, we drink,Drink all to-day, to-morrow fast and mourn,Sick, and all o'er oppress'd with nauseous fumes;Such is the drunkard's curse, and Hell itselfCannot devise a greater. Oh that natureMight quit us of this overbearing burthen,This tyrant-god, the belly! take that from us,With all its bestial appetites, and man,Exonerated man, shall be all soul. —Cumberland.
You, Sir, a Cyrenean, as I take you,
Look at your sect of desperate voluptuaries;
There's Diodorus—beggary is too good for him—
A vast inheritance in two short years,
Where is it? Squander'd, vanish'd, gone for ever:
So rapid was his dissipation.—Stop!
Stop! my good friend, you cry; not quite so fast!
This man went fair and softly to his ruin;
What talk you of two years? As many days,
Two little days, were long enough to finish
Young Epicharides; he had some soul,
And drove a merry pace to his undoing—
Marry! if a kind surfeit would surprise us,
Ere we sit down to earn it, such prevention
Would come most opportune to save the trouble
Of a sick stomach and an aching head:
But whilst the punishment is out of sight,
And the full chalice at our lips, we drink,
Drink all to-day, to-morrow fast and mourn,
Sick, and all o'er oppress'd with nauseous fumes;
Such is the drunkard's curse, and Hell itself
Cannot devise a greater. Oh that nature
Might quit us of this overbearing burthen,
This tyrant-god, the belly! take that from us,
With all its bestial appetites, and man,
Exonerated man, shall be all soul. —Cumberland.
Anaxilas.(Book xiii. § 6, p. 893.)
Whoever has been weak enough to dote,And live in precious bondage at the feetOf an imperious mistress, may relateSome part of their iniquity at least.In fact, what monster is there in the worldThat bears the least comparison with them!What frightful dragon, or chimera dire,What Scylla, what Charybdis, can exceed them?Nor sphinx, nor hydra, nay, no winged harpy,Nor hungry lioness, nor poisonous adder,In noxious qualities, is half so bad.They are a race accursed, and stand alonePreeminent in wickedness. For instance,Plangon, a foul chimera; spreading flames,And dealing out destruction far and near,And no Bellerophon to crush the monster.Then Sinope, a many-headed hydra,An old and wrinkled hag—Gnathine, too,Her neighbour—Oh! they are a precious pair.Nanno's a barking Scylla, nothing less—Having already privately dispatch'dTwo of her lovers, she would lure a thirdTo sure destruction, but the youth escaped,Thanks to his pliant oars, and better fortune.Phryne, like foul Charybdis, swallows upAt once the pilot and the bark. Theano,Like a pluck'd siren, has the voice and lookOf woman, but below the waist, her limbsWither'd and shrunk in to the blackbird's size.These wretched women, one and all, partakeThe nature of the Theban Sphinx; they speakIn doubtful and ambiguous phrase, pretendTo love you truly, and with all their hearts,Then whisper in your ear, some little want—A girl to wait on them forsooth, a bed,Or easy-chair, a brazen tripod too—Give what you will they never are content;And to sum up their character at once,No beast that haunts the forest for his preyIs half so mischievous. —Anon.
Whoever has been weak enough to dote,And live in precious bondage at the feetOf an imperious mistress, may relateSome part of their iniquity at least.In fact, what monster is there in the worldThat bears the least comparison with them!What frightful dragon, or chimera dire,What Scylla, what Charybdis, can exceed them?Nor sphinx, nor hydra, nay, no winged harpy,Nor hungry lioness, nor poisonous adder,In noxious qualities, is half so bad.They are a race accursed, and stand alonePreeminent in wickedness. For instance,Plangon, a foul chimera; spreading flames,And dealing out destruction far and near,And no Bellerophon to crush the monster.Then Sinope, a many-headed hydra,An old and wrinkled hag—Gnathine, too,Her neighbour—Oh! they are a precious pair.Nanno's a barking Scylla, nothing less—Having already privately dispatch'dTwo of her lovers, she would lure a thirdTo sure destruction, but the youth escaped,Thanks to his pliant oars, and better fortune.Phryne, like foul Charybdis, swallows upAt once the pilot and the bark. Theano,Like a pluck'd siren, has the voice and lookOf woman, but below the waist, her limbsWither'd and shrunk in to the blackbird's size.These wretched women, one and all, partakeThe nature of the Theban Sphinx; they speakIn doubtful and ambiguous phrase, pretendTo love you truly, and with all their hearts,Then whisper in your ear, some little want—A girl to wait on them forsooth, a bed,Or easy-chair, a brazen tripod too—Give what you will they never are content;And to sum up their character at once,No beast that haunts the forest for his preyIs half so mischievous. —Anon.
Whoever has been weak enough to dote,And live in precious bondage at the feetOf an imperious mistress, may relateSome part of their iniquity at least.In fact, what monster is there in the worldThat bears the least comparison with them!What frightful dragon, or chimera dire,What Scylla, what Charybdis, can exceed them?Nor sphinx, nor hydra, nay, no winged harpy,Nor hungry lioness, nor poisonous adder,In noxious qualities, is half so bad.They are a race accursed, and stand alonePreeminent in wickedness. For instance,Plangon, a foul chimera; spreading flames,And dealing out destruction far and near,And no Bellerophon to crush the monster.Then Sinope, a many-headed hydra,An old and wrinkled hag—Gnathine, too,Her neighbour—Oh! they are a precious pair.Nanno's a barking Scylla, nothing less—Having already privately dispatch'dTwo of her lovers, she would lure a thirdTo sure destruction, but the youth escaped,Thanks to his pliant oars, and better fortune.Phryne, like foul Charybdis, swallows upAt once the pilot and the bark. Theano,Like a pluck'd siren, has the voice and lookOf woman, but below the waist, her limbsWither'd and shrunk in to the blackbird's size.These wretched women, one and all, partakeThe nature of the Theban Sphinx; they speakIn doubtful and ambiguous phrase, pretendTo love you truly, and with all their hearts,Then whisper in your ear, some little want—A girl to wait on them forsooth, a bed,Or easy-chair, a brazen tripod too—Give what you will they never are content;And to sum up their character at once,No beast that haunts the forest for his preyIs half so mischievous. —Anon.
Whoever has been weak enough to dote,And live in precious bondage at the feetOf an imperious mistress, may relateSome part of their iniquity at least.In fact, what monster is there in the worldThat bears the least comparison with them!What frightful dragon, or chimera dire,What Scylla, what Charybdis, can exceed them?Nor sphinx, nor hydra, nay, no winged harpy,Nor hungry lioness, nor poisonous adder,In noxious qualities, is half so bad.They are a race accursed, and stand alonePreeminent in wickedness. For instance,Plangon, a foul chimera; spreading flames,And dealing out destruction far and near,And no Bellerophon to crush the monster.Then Sinope, a many-headed hydra,An old and wrinkled hag—Gnathine, too,Her neighbour—Oh! they are a precious pair.Nanno's a barking Scylla, nothing less—Having already privately dispatch'dTwo of her lovers, she would lure a thirdTo sure destruction, but the youth escaped,Thanks to his pliant oars, and better fortune.Phryne, like foul Charybdis, swallows upAt once the pilot and the bark. Theano,Like a pluck'd siren, has the voice and lookOf woman, but below the waist, her limbsWither'd and shrunk in to the blackbird's size.These wretched women, one and all, partakeThe nature of the Theban Sphinx; they speakIn doubtful and ambiguous phrase, pretendTo love you truly, and with all their hearts,Then whisper in your ear, some little want—A girl to wait on them forsooth, a bed,Or easy-chair, a brazen tripod too—Give what you will they never are content;And to sum up their character at once,No beast that haunts the forest for his preyIs half so mischievous. —Anon.
Whoever has been weak enough to dote,
And live in precious bondage at the feet
Of an imperious mistress, may relate
Some part of their iniquity at least.
In fact, what monster is there in the world
That bears the least comparison with them!
What frightful dragon, or chimera dire,
What Scylla, what Charybdis, can exceed them?
Nor sphinx, nor hydra, nay, no winged harpy,
Nor hungry lioness, nor poisonous adder,
In noxious qualities, is half so bad.
They are a race accursed, and stand alone
Preeminent in wickedness. For instance,
Plangon, a foul chimera; spreading flames,
And dealing out destruction far and near,
And no Bellerophon to crush the monster.
Then Sinope, a many-headed hydra,
An old and wrinkled hag—Gnathine, too,
Her neighbour—Oh! they are a precious pair.
Nanno's a barking Scylla, nothing less—
Having already privately dispatch'd
Two of her lovers, she would lure a third
To sure destruction, but the youth escaped,
Thanks to his pliant oars, and better fortune.
Phryne, like foul Charybdis, swallows up
At once the pilot and the bark. Theano,
Like a pluck'd siren, has the voice and look
Of woman, but below the waist, her limbs
Wither'd and shrunk in to the blackbird's size.
These wretched women, one and all, partake
The nature of the Theban Sphinx; they speak
In doubtful and ambiguous phrase, pretend
To love you truly, and with all their hearts,
Then whisper in your ear, some little want—
A girl to wait on them forsooth, a bed,
Or easy-chair, a brazen tripod too—
Give what you will they never are content;
And to sum up their character at once,
No beast that haunts the forest for his prey
Is half so mischievous. —Anon.
The same.
Away, away with these female friends!He whose embraces have encircled one,Will own a monster has been in his arms;Fell as a dragon is, fire-spouting likeChimæra, like the rapid ocean-portent,Three-headed and dog-snouted!—Harpies are less obscene in touch than they:The tigress robb'd of her first whelps, more merciful:Asps, scorpions, vipers, amphisbenæ dire,Cerastes, Ellops, Dipsas, all in one!—But come, let's pass them in review before us,And see how close the parallels will hold.And first for Plangon: where in the scale placeher?E'en rank her with the beast whose breath is flame.Like her she deals combustion round; and foreignersBy scores have perish'd in her conflagrations.One only 'scaped the fair incendiary,And that by virtue of his nimble steed.Heback'd his baggage, and turn'd tail upon her.—Have commerce with Sinope, and you'll findThat Lerna's monster was no tale; for likeThe hydra she can multiply her members,And fair Gnathæna is the present offshoot:Hermorning charms for beauties in the waneCompensate—but—the dupe pays doubly for't.There's Nanno too:—Nanno and Scylla's poolBear close similitude: two swains have madeAlready shipwreck in that gulf; a thirdHad shared their fortunes, but the wiser boyPlied well his oars, and boldly stood to sea-ward.If Nanno's Scylla, Phryne is Charybdis:Woe to the wretch who comes within her tide!Engulf'd in whelming waves, both bark and marinerAre suck'd into th' abyss of quick perdition!And what's Theano? bald, and bare, and peel'd,With whom but close-pluck'd sirens ranks she? womanIn face and voice; but in her feet—a blackbird.But why enlarge my nomenclature? Sphinx isA common name for all: on her enigmaIs moulded all their speech: love, fealty,Affection,—these are terms drop clear enoughFrom them, but at their heels comes a request,Wrapt up in tortuous phrase of nice perplexity.(Mimics.)—"A four-foot couch perchance would grace their chamber!Their needs forsooth require a chair—three-footed,Or, for the nonce, two-footed—'twould content them."He that is versed in points and tricks, like Œdipus,Hears, and escapes perchance with purse uninjured;The easy fool gapes, gazes, and—hey! presto!Both purse and person's gone! —Mitchell.
Away, away with these female friends!He whose embraces have encircled one,Will own a monster has been in his arms;Fell as a dragon is, fire-spouting likeChimæra, like the rapid ocean-portent,Three-headed and dog-snouted!—Harpies are less obscene in touch than they:The tigress robb'd of her first whelps, more merciful:Asps, scorpions, vipers, amphisbenæ dire,Cerastes, Ellops, Dipsas, all in one!—But come, let's pass them in review before us,And see how close the parallels will hold.And first for Plangon: where in the scale placeher?E'en rank her with the beast whose breath is flame.Like her she deals combustion round; and foreignersBy scores have perish'd in her conflagrations.One only 'scaped the fair incendiary,And that by virtue of his nimble steed.Heback'd his baggage, and turn'd tail upon her.—Have commerce with Sinope, and you'll findThat Lerna's monster was no tale; for likeThe hydra she can multiply her members,And fair Gnathæna is the present offshoot:Hermorning charms for beauties in the waneCompensate—but—the dupe pays doubly for't.There's Nanno too:—Nanno and Scylla's poolBear close similitude: two swains have madeAlready shipwreck in that gulf; a thirdHad shared their fortunes, but the wiser boyPlied well his oars, and boldly stood to sea-ward.If Nanno's Scylla, Phryne is Charybdis:Woe to the wretch who comes within her tide!Engulf'd in whelming waves, both bark and marinerAre suck'd into th' abyss of quick perdition!And what's Theano? bald, and bare, and peel'd,With whom but close-pluck'd sirens ranks she? womanIn face and voice; but in her feet—a blackbird.But why enlarge my nomenclature? Sphinx isA common name for all: on her enigmaIs moulded all their speech: love, fealty,Affection,—these are terms drop clear enoughFrom them, but at their heels comes a request,Wrapt up in tortuous phrase of nice perplexity.(Mimics.)—"A four-foot couch perchance would grace their chamber!Their needs forsooth require a chair—three-footed,Or, for the nonce, two-footed—'twould content them."He that is versed in points and tricks, like Œdipus,Hears, and escapes perchance with purse uninjured;The easy fool gapes, gazes, and—hey! presto!Both purse and person's gone! —Mitchell.
Away, away with these female friends!He whose embraces have encircled one,Will own a monster has been in his arms;Fell as a dragon is, fire-spouting likeChimæra, like the rapid ocean-portent,Three-headed and dog-snouted!—Harpies are less obscene in touch than they:The tigress robb'd of her first whelps, more merciful:Asps, scorpions, vipers, amphisbenæ dire,Cerastes, Ellops, Dipsas, all in one!—But come, let's pass them in review before us,And see how close the parallels will hold.And first for Plangon: where in the scale placeher?E'en rank her with the beast whose breath is flame.Like her she deals combustion round; and foreignersBy scores have perish'd in her conflagrations.One only 'scaped the fair incendiary,And that by virtue of his nimble steed.Heback'd his baggage, and turn'd tail upon her.—Have commerce with Sinope, and you'll findThat Lerna's monster was no tale; for likeThe hydra she can multiply her members,And fair Gnathæna is the present offshoot:Hermorning charms for beauties in the waneCompensate—but—the dupe pays doubly for't.There's Nanno too:—Nanno and Scylla's poolBear close similitude: two swains have madeAlready shipwreck in that gulf; a thirdHad shared their fortunes, but the wiser boyPlied well his oars, and boldly stood to sea-ward.If Nanno's Scylla, Phryne is Charybdis:Woe to the wretch who comes within her tide!Engulf'd in whelming waves, both bark and marinerAre suck'd into th' abyss of quick perdition!And what's Theano? bald, and bare, and peel'd,With whom but close-pluck'd sirens ranks she? womanIn face and voice; but in her feet—a blackbird.But why enlarge my nomenclature? Sphinx isA common name for all: on her enigmaIs moulded all their speech: love, fealty,Affection,—these are terms drop clear enoughFrom them, but at their heels comes a request,Wrapt up in tortuous phrase of nice perplexity.(Mimics.)—"A four-foot couch perchance would grace their chamber!Their needs forsooth require a chair—three-footed,Or, for the nonce, two-footed—'twould content them."He that is versed in points and tricks, like Œdipus,Hears, and escapes perchance with purse uninjured;The easy fool gapes, gazes, and—hey! presto!Both purse and person's gone! —Mitchell.
Away, away with these female friends!He whose embraces have encircled one,Will own a monster has been in his arms;Fell as a dragon is, fire-spouting likeChimæra, like the rapid ocean-portent,Three-headed and dog-snouted!—Harpies are less obscene in touch than they:The tigress robb'd of her first whelps, more merciful:Asps, scorpions, vipers, amphisbenæ dire,Cerastes, Ellops, Dipsas, all in one!—But come, let's pass them in review before us,And see how close the parallels will hold.And first for Plangon: where in the scale placeher?E'en rank her with the beast whose breath is flame.Like her she deals combustion round; and foreignersBy scores have perish'd in her conflagrations.One only 'scaped the fair incendiary,And that by virtue of his nimble steed.Heback'd his baggage, and turn'd tail upon her.—Have commerce with Sinope, and you'll findThat Lerna's monster was no tale; for likeThe hydra she can multiply her members,And fair Gnathæna is the present offshoot:Hermorning charms for beauties in the waneCompensate—but—the dupe pays doubly for't.There's Nanno too:—Nanno and Scylla's poolBear close similitude: two swains have madeAlready shipwreck in that gulf; a thirdHad shared their fortunes, but the wiser boyPlied well his oars, and boldly stood to sea-ward.If Nanno's Scylla, Phryne is Charybdis:Woe to the wretch who comes within her tide!Engulf'd in whelming waves, both bark and marinerAre suck'd into th' abyss of quick perdition!And what's Theano? bald, and bare, and peel'd,With whom but close-pluck'd sirens ranks she? womanIn face and voice; but in her feet—a blackbird.But why enlarge my nomenclature? Sphinx isA common name for all: on her enigmaIs moulded all their speech: love, fealty,Affection,—these are terms drop clear enoughFrom them, but at their heels comes a request,Wrapt up in tortuous phrase of nice perplexity.(Mimics.)—"A four-foot couch perchance would grace their chamber!Their needs forsooth require a chair—three-footed,Or, for the nonce, two-footed—'twould content them."He that is versed in points and tricks, like Œdipus,Hears, and escapes perchance with purse uninjured;The easy fool gapes, gazes, and—hey! presto!Both purse and person's gone! —Mitchell.
Away, away with these female friends!
He whose embraces have encircled one,
Will own a monster has been in his arms;
Fell as a dragon is, fire-spouting like
Chimæra, like the rapid ocean-portent,
Three-headed and dog-snouted!—
Harpies are less obscene in touch than they:
The tigress robb'd of her first whelps, more merciful:
Asps, scorpions, vipers, amphisbenæ dire,
Cerastes, Ellops, Dipsas, all in one!—
But come, let's pass them in review before us,
And see how close the parallels will hold.
And first for Plangon: where in the scale placeher?
E'en rank her with the beast whose breath is flame.
Like her she deals combustion round; and foreigners
By scores have perish'd in her conflagrations.
One only 'scaped the fair incendiary,
And that by virtue of his nimble steed.
Heback'd his baggage, and turn'd tail upon her.—
Have commerce with Sinope, and you'll find
That Lerna's monster was no tale; for like
The hydra she can multiply her members,
And fair Gnathæna is the present offshoot:
Hermorning charms for beauties in the wane
Compensate—but—the dupe pays doubly for't.
There's Nanno too:—Nanno and Scylla's pool
Bear close similitude: two swains have made
Already shipwreck in that gulf; a third
Had shared their fortunes, but the wiser boy
Plied well his oars, and boldly stood to sea-ward.
If Nanno's Scylla, Phryne is Charybdis:
Woe to the wretch who comes within her tide!
Engulf'd in whelming waves, both bark and mariner
Are suck'd into th' abyss of quick perdition!
And what's Theano? bald, and bare, and peel'd,
With whom but close-pluck'd sirens ranks she? woman
In face and voice; but in her feet—a blackbird.
But why enlarge my nomenclature? Sphinx is
A common name for all: on her enigma
Is moulded all their speech: love, fealty,
Affection,—these are terms drop clear enough
From them, but at their heels comes a request,
Wrapt up in tortuous phrase of nice perplexity.
(Mimics.)—"A four-foot couch perchance would grace their chamber!
Their needs forsooth require a chair—three-footed,
Or, for the nonce, two-footed—'twould content them."
He that is versed in points and tricks, like Œdipus,
Hears, and escapes perchance with purse uninjured;
The easy fool gapes, gazes, and—hey! presto!
Both purse and person's gone! —Mitchell.
Alexis.(Book xiii. § 7, p. 894.)
What abject wretches do we make ourselvesBy giving up the freedom and delightsOf single life to a capricious woman!Then, if she brings an ample fortune too,Her pride, and her pretensions are increased,And what should be a benefit, becomesA bitter curse, and grievous punishment.The anger of a man may well be borne,'Tis quick, and sudden, but as soon subsides;It has a honied sweetness when comparedTo that of woman. If a man receivesAn injury, he may resent at first,But he will quickly pardon. Women firstOffer the injury, then to increaseTh' offence, instead of soothing, they inflictA deeper wound by obstinate resentment—Neglect what's fit and proper to be done,But eagerly pursue the thing they should not;—And then they grow fantastical withal,When they are perfectly in health complainIn faint and feeble tone, "they're sick, they die." —Anon.
What abject wretches do we make ourselvesBy giving up the freedom and delightsOf single life to a capricious woman!Then, if she brings an ample fortune too,Her pride, and her pretensions are increased,And what should be a benefit, becomesA bitter curse, and grievous punishment.The anger of a man may well be borne,'Tis quick, and sudden, but as soon subsides;It has a honied sweetness when comparedTo that of woman. If a man receivesAn injury, he may resent at first,But he will quickly pardon. Women firstOffer the injury, then to increaseTh' offence, instead of soothing, they inflictA deeper wound by obstinate resentment—Neglect what's fit and proper to be done,But eagerly pursue the thing they should not;—And then they grow fantastical withal,When they are perfectly in health complainIn faint and feeble tone, "they're sick, they die." —Anon.
What abject wretches do we make ourselvesBy giving up the freedom and delightsOf single life to a capricious woman!Then, if she brings an ample fortune too,Her pride, and her pretensions are increased,And what should be a benefit, becomesA bitter curse, and grievous punishment.The anger of a man may well be borne,'Tis quick, and sudden, but as soon subsides;It has a honied sweetness when comparedTo that of woman. If a man receivesAn injury, he may resent at first,But he will quickly pardon. Women firstOffer the injury, then to increaseTh' offence, instead of soothing, they inflictA deeper wound by obstinate resentment—Neglect what's fit and proper to be done,But eagerly pursue the thing they should not;—And then they grow fantastical withal,When they are perfectly in health complainIn faint and feeble tone, "they're sick, they die." —Anon.
What abject wretches do we make ourselvesBy giving up the freedom and delightsOf single life to a capricious woman!Then, if she brings an ample fortune too,Her pride, and her pretensions are increased,And what should be a benefit, becomesA bitter curse, and grievous punishment.The anger of a man may well be borne,'Tis quick, and sudden, but as soon subsides;It has a honied sweetness when comparedTo that of woman. If a man receivesAn injury, he may resent at first,But he will quickly pardon. Women firstOffer the injury, then to increaseTh' offence, instead of soothing, they inflictA deeper wound by obstinate resentment—Neglect what's fit and proper to be done,But eagerly pursue the thing they should not;—And then they grow fantastical withal,When they are perfectly in health complainIn faint and feeble tone, "they're sick, they die." —Anon.
What abject wretches do we make ourselves
By giving up the freedom and delights
Of single life to a capricious woman!
Then, if she brings an ample fortune too,
Her pride, and her pretensions are increased,
And what should be a benefit, becomes
A bitter curse, and grievous punishment.
The anger of a man may well be borne,
'Tis quick, and sudden, but as soon subsides;
It has a honied sweetness when compared
To that of woman. If a man receives
An injury, he may resent at first,
But he will quickly pardon. Women first
Offer the injury, then to increase
Th' offence, instead of soothing, they inflict
A deeper wound by obstinate resentment—
Neglect what's fit and proper to be done,
But eagerly pursue the thing they should not;—
And then they grow fantastical withal,
When they are perfectly in health complain
In faint and feeble tone, "they're sick, they die." —Anon.
Aristophon.(Book xiii. § 8, p. 894.)
A man may marry once without a crime,But cursed is he who weds a second time. —Cumberland.
A man may marry once without a crime,But cursed is he who weds a second time. —Cumberland.
A man may marry once without a crime,But cursed is he who weds a second time. —Cumberland.
A man may marry once without a crime,But cursed is he who weds a second time. —Cumberland.
A man may marry once without a crime,
But cursed is he who weds a second time. —Cumberland.
Menander.(Book xiii. § 8, p. 895.)
A.While prudence guides, change not, at any rate,A life of freedom for the married state:I ventured once to play that desperate game,And therefore warn you not to do the same.B.The counsel may be sage which you advance,But I'm resolved to take the common chance.A.Mild gales attend that voyage of your life,And waft you safely through the sea of strife:Not the dire Libyan, nor Ægean sea,Where out of thirty ships scarce perish three;But that, where daring fools most dearly pay,Where all that sail are surely cast away. —Fawkes.
A.While prudence guides, change not, at any rate,A life of freedom for the married state:I ventured once to play that desperate game,And therefore warn you not to do the same.B.The counsel may be sage which you advance,But I'm resolved to take the common chance.A.Mild gales attend that voyage of your life,And waft you safely through the sea of strife:Not the dire Libyan, nor Ægean sea,Where out of thirty ships scarce perish three;But that, where daring fools most dearly pay,Where all that sail are surely cast away. —Fawkes.
A.While prudence guides, change not, at any rate,A life of freedom for the married state:I ventured once to play that desperate game,And therefore warn you not to do the same.B.The counsel may be sage which you advance,But I'm resolved to take the common chance.A.Mild gales attend that voyage of your life,And waft you safely through the sea of strife:Not the dire Libyan, nor Ægean sea,Where out of thirty ships scarce perish three;But that, where daring fools most dearly pay,Where all that sail are surely cast away. —Fawkes.
A.While prudence guides, change not, at any rate,A life of freedom for the married state:I ventured once to play that desperate game,And therefore warn you not to do the same.B.The counsel may be sage which you advance,But I'm resolved to take the common chance.A.Mild gales attend that voyage of your life,And waft you safely through the sea of strife:Not the dire Libyan, nor Ægean sea,Where out of thirty ships scarce perish three;But that, where daring fools most dearly pay,Where all that sail are surely cast away. —Fawkes.
A.While prudence guides, change not, at any rate,
A life of freedom for the married state:
I ventured once to play that desperate game,
And therefore warn you not to do the same.
B.The counsel may be sage which you advance,
But I'm resolved to take the common chance.
A.Mild gales attend that voyage of your life,
And waft you safely through the sea of strife:
Not the dire Libyan, nor Ægean sea,
Where out of thirty ships scarce perish three;
But that, where daring fools most dearly pay,
Where all that sail are surely cast away. —Fawkes.
Alexis.(Book xiii. § 13, p. 899.)
As slowly I return'd from the Piræus,My mind impress'd with all the various pains,And pungent griefs, that torture human life,I thus began to reason with myself.The painters and the sculptors, who pretendBy cunning art to give the form of Love,Know nothing of his nature, for in truthHe's neither male nor female, god or man,Nor wise, nor foolish, but a compound strange,Partaking of the qualities of each,And an epitome of all in one.He has the strength and prowess of a man,The weak timidity of helpless woman;In folly furious, yet in prudence wiseAnd circumspect. Mad as an untamed beast,In strength and hardihood invincible,Then for ambition he's a very demon.I swear by sage Minerva and the gods,I do not know his likeness, one whose natureIs so endued with qualities unlikeThe gentle name he bears. —Anon.
As slowly I return'd from the Piræus,My mind impress'd with all the various pains,And pungent griefs, that torture human life,I thus began to reason with myself.The painters and the sculptors, who pretendBy cunning art to give the form of Love,Know nothing of his nature, for in truthHe's neither male nor female, god or man,Nor wise, nor foolish, but a compound strange,Partaking of the qualities of each,And an epitome of all in one.He has the strength and prowess of a man,The weak timidity of helpless woman;In folly furious, yet in prudence wiseAnd circumspect. Mad as an untamed beast,In strength and hardihood invincible,Then for ambition he's a very demon.I swear by sage Minerva and the gods,I do not know his likeness, one whose natureIs so endued with qualities unlikeThe gentle name he bears. —Anon.
As slowly I return'd from the Piræus,My mind impress'd with all the various pains,And pungent griefs, that torture human life,I thus began to reason with myself.The painters and the sculptors, who pretendBy cunning art to give the form of Love,Know nothing of his nature, for in truthHe's neither male nor female, god or man,Nor wise, nor foolish, but a compound strange,Partaking of the qualities of each,And an epitome of all in one.He has the strength and prowess of a man,The weak timidity of helpless woman;In folly furious, yet in prudence wiseAnd circumspect. Mad as an untamed beast,In strength and hardihood invincible,Then for ambition he's a very demon.I swear by sage Minerva and the gods,I do not know his likeness, one whose natureIs so endued with qualities unlikeThe gentle name he bears. —Anon.
As slowly I return'd from the Piræus,My mind impress'd with all the various pains,And pungent griefs, that torture human life,I thus began to reason with myself.The painters and the sculptors, who pretendBy cunning art to give the form of Love,Know nothing of his nature, for in truthHe's neither male nor female, god or man,Nor wise, nor foolish, but a compound strange,Partaking of the qualities of each,And an epitome of all in one.He has the strength and prowess of a man,The weak timidity of helpless woman;In folly furious, yet in prudence wiseAnd circumspect. Mad as an untamed beast,In strength and hardihood invincible,Then for ambition he's a very demon.I swear by sage Minerva and the gods,I do not know his likeness, one whose natureIs so endued with qualities unlikeThe gentle name he bears. —Anon.
As slowly I return'd from the Piræus,
My mind impress'd with all the various pains,
And pungent griefs, that torture human life,
I thus began to reason with myself.
The painters and the sculptors, who pretend
By cunning art to give the form of Love,
Know nothing of his nature, for in truth
He's neither male nor female, god or man,
Nor wise, nor foolish, but a compound strange,
Partaking of the qualities of each,
And an epitome of all in one.
He has the strength and prowess of a man,
The weak timidity of helpless woman;
In folly furious, yet in prudence wise
And circumspect. Mad as an untamed beast,
In strength and hardihood invincible,
Then for ambition he's a very demon.
I swear by sage Minerva and the gods,
I do not know his likeness, one whose nature
Is so endued with qualities unlike
The gentle name he bears. —Anon.
The same.
One day as slowly sauntering from the port,A thousand cares conflicting in my breast,Thus I began to commune with myself—Methinks these painters misapply their art,And never knew the being which they draw;For mark! their many false conceits of Love.Love is nor male nor female, man nor god,Nor with intelligence nor yet without it,But a strange compound of all these, unitingIn one mix'd essence many opposites;A manly courage with a woman's fear,The madman's phrenzy in a reasoning mind,The strength of steel, the fury of a beast,The ambition of a hero—something 'tis,But by Minerva and the gods I swear!I know not what this nameless something is. —Cumberland.
One day as slowly sauntering from the port,A thousand cares conflicting in my breast,Thus I began to commune with myself—Methinks these painters misapply their art,And never knew the being which they draw;For mark! their many false conceits of Love.Love is nor male nor female, man nor god,Nor with intelligence nor yet without it,But a strange compound of all these, unitingIn one mix'd essence many opposites;A manly courage with a woman's fear,The madman's phrenzy in a reasoning mind,The strength of steel, the fury of a beast,The ambition of a hero—something 'tis,But by Minerva and the gods I swear!I know not what this nameless something is. —Cumberland.
One day as slowly sauntering from the port,A thousand cares conflicting in my breast,Thus I began to commune with myself—Methinks these painters misapply their art,And never knew the being which they draw;For mark! their many false conceits of Love.Love is nor male nor female, man nor god,Nor with intelligence nor yet without it,But a strange compound of all these, unitingIn one mix'd essence many opposites;A manly courage with a woman's fear,The madman's phrenzy in a reasoning mind,The strength of steel, the fury of a beast,The ambition of a hero—something 'tis,But by Minerva and the gods I swear!I know not what this nameless something is. —Cumberland.
One day as slowly sauntering from the port,A thousand cares conflicting in my breast,Thus I began to commune with myself—Methinks these painters misapply their art,And never knew the being which they draw;For mark! their many false conceits of Love.Love is nor male nor female, man nor god,Nor with intelligence nor yet without it,But a strange compound of all these, unitingIn one mix'd essence many opposites;A manly courage with a woman's fear,The madman's phrenzy in a reasoning mind,The strength of steel, the fury of a beast,The ambition of a hero—something 'tis,But by Minerva and the gods I swear!I know not what this nameless something is. —Cumberland.
One day as slowly sauntering from the port,
A thousand cares conflicting in my breast,
Thus I began to commune with myself—
Methinks these painters misapply their art,
And never knew the being which they draw;
For mark! their many false conceits of Love.
Love is nor male nor female, man nor god,
Nor with intelligence nor yet without it,
But a strange compound of all these, uniting
In one mix'd essence many opposites;
A manly courage with a woman's fear,
The madman's phrenzy in a reasoning mind,
The strength of steel, the fury of a beast,
The ambition of a hero—something 'tis,
But by Minerva and the gods I swear!
I know not what this nameless something is. —Cumberland.
Eubulus.(Book xiii. § 13, p. 899.)
Why, foolish painter, give those wings to Love?Love is not light, as my sad heart can prove:Love hath no wings, or none that I can see;If he can fly—oh! bid him fly from me! —Cumberland.
Why, foolish painter, give those wings to Love?Love is not light, as my sad heart can prove:Love hath no wings, or none that I can see;If he can fly—oh! bid him fly from me! —Cumberland.
Why, foolish painter, give those wings to Love?Love is not light, as my sad heart can prove:Love hath no wings, or none that I can see;If he can fly—oh! bid him fly from me! —Cumberland.
Why, foolish painter, give those wings to Love?Love is not light, as my sad heart can prove:Love hath no wings, or none that I can see;If he can fly—oh! bid him fly from me! —Cumberland.
Why, foolish painter, give those wings to Love?
Love is not light, as my sad heart can prove:
Love hath no wings, or none that I can see;
If he can fly—oh! bid him fly from me! —Cumberland.
Theophilus.(Book xiii. § 14, p. 900.)
He who affirms that lovers are all mad,Or fools, gives no strong proof of his own sense;For if from human life we take the joysAnd the delights of love, what is there leftThat can deserve a better name than death?For instance, now, I love a music girl,A virgin too, and am I therefore mad?For she's a paragon of female beauty;Her form and figure excellent; her voiceMelodiously sweet; and then her airHas dignity and grace. With what delightI gaze upon her charms! More than you feelAt sight of him who for the public showsGives you free entrance to the theatre. —Anon.
He who affirms that lovers are all mad,Or fools, gives no strong proof of his own sense;For if from human life we take the joysAnd the delights of love, what is there leftThat can deserve a better name than death?For instance, now, I love a music girl,A virgin too, and am I therefore mad?For she's a paragon of female beauty;Her form and figure excellent; her voiceMelodiously sweet; and then her airHas dignity and grace. With what delightI gaze upon her charms! More than you feelAt sight of him who for the public showsGives you free entrance to the theatre. —Anon.
He who affirms that lovers are all mad,Or fools, gives no strong proof of his own sense;For if from human life we take the joysAnd the delights of love, what is there leftThat can deserve a better name than death?For instance, now, I love a music girl,A virgin too, and am I therefore mad?For she's a paragon of female beauty;Her form and figure excellent; her voiceMelodiously sweet; and then her airHas dignity and grace. With what delightI gaze upon her charms! More than you feelAt sight of him who for the public showsGives you free entrance to the theatre. —Anon.
He who affirms that lovers are all mad,Or fools, gives no strong proof of his own sense;For if from human life we take the joysAnd the delights of love, what is there leftThat can deserve a better name than death?For instance, now, I love a music girl,A virgin too, and am I therefore mad?For she's a paragon of female beauty;Her form and figure excellent; her voiceMelodiously sweet; and then her airHas dignity and grace. With what delightI gaze upon her charms! More than you feelAt sight of him who for the public showsGives you free entrance to the theatre. —Anon.
He who affirms that lovers are all mad,
Or fools, gives no strong proof of his own sense;
For if from human life we take the joys
And the delights of love, what is there left
That can deserve a better name than death?
For instance, now, I love a music girl,
A virgin too, and am I therefore mad?
For she's a paragon of female beauty;
Her form and figure excellent; her voice
Melodiously sweet; and then her air
Has dignity and grace. With what delight
I gaze upon her charms! More than you feel
At sight of him who for the public shows
Gives you free entrance to the theatre. —Anon.
The same.
If love be folly, as the schools would prove,The man must lose his wits, who falls in love;Deny him love, you doom the wretch to death,And then it follows he must lose his breath.Good sooth! there is a young and dainty maidI dearly love, a minstrel she by trade;What then? must I defer to pedant rule,And own that love transforms me to a fool?Not I, so help me! By the gods I swear,The nymph I love is fairest of the fair;Wise, witty, dearer to her poet's sightThan piles of money on an author's night;Must I not love her then? Let the dull sot,Who made the law, obey it! I will not. —Cumberland.
If love be folly, as the schools would prove,The man must lose his wits, who falls in love;Deny him love, you doom the wretch to death,And then it follows he must lose his breath.Good sooth! there is a young and dainty maidI dearly love, a minstrel she by trade;What then? must I defer to pedant rule,And own that love transforms me to a fool?Not I, so help me! By the gods I swear,The nymph I love is fairest of the fair;Wise, witty, dearer to her poet's sightThan piles of money on an author's night;Must I not love her then? Let the dull sot,Who made the law, obey it! I will not. —Cumberland.
If love be folly, as the schools would prove,The man must lose his wits, who falls in love;Deny him love, you doom the wretch to death,And then it follows he must lose his breath.Good sooth! there is a young and dainty maidI dearly love, a minstrel she by trade;What then? must I defer to pedant rule,And own that love transforms me to a fool?Not I, so help me! By the gods I swear,The nymph I love is fairest of the fair;Wise, witty, dearer to her poet's sightThan piles of money on an author's night;Must I not love her then? Let the dull sot,Who made the law, obey it! I will not. —Cumberland.
If love be folly, as the schools would prove,The man must lose his wits, who falls in love;Deny him love, you doom the wretch to death,And then it follows he must lose his breath.Good sooth! there is a young and dainty maidI dearly love, a minstrel she by trade;What then? must I defer to pedant rule,And own that love transforms me to a fool?Not I, so help me! By the gods I swear,The nymph I love is fairest of the fair;Wise, witty, dearer to her poet's sightThan piles of money on an author's night;Must I not love her then? Let the dull sot,Who made the law, obey it! I will not. —Cumberland.
If love be folly, as the schools would prove,
The man must lose his wits, who falls in love;
Deny him love, you doom the wretch to death,
And then it follows he must lose his breath.
Good sooth! there is a young and dainty maid
I dearly love, a minstrel she by trade;
What then? must I defer to pedant rule,
And own that love transforms me to a fool?
Not I, so help me! By the gods I swear,
The nymph I love is fairest of the fair;
Wise, witty, dearer to her poet's sight
Than piles of money on an author's night;
Must I not love her then? Let the dull sot,
Who made the law, obey it! I will not. —Cumberland.
Aristophon.(Book xiii. § 14, p. 901.)
Love, the disturber of the peace of heaven,And grand fomenter of Olympian feuds,Was banish'd from the synods of the gods:They drove him down to earth at the expenseOf us poor mortals, and curtail'd his wingsTo spoil his soaring and secure themselvesFrom his annoyance—Selfish, hard decree!For ever since he roams th' unquiet world,The tyrant and despoiler of mankind. —Cumberland.
Love, the disturber of the peace of heaven,And grand fomenter of Olympian feuds,Was banish'd from the synods of the gods:They drove him down to earth at the expenseOf us poor mortals, and curtail'd his wingsTo spoil his soaring and secure themselvesFrom his annoyance—Selfish, hard decree!For ever since he roams th' unquiet world,The tyrant and despoiler of mankind. —Cumberland.
Love, the disturber of the peace of heaven,And grand fomenter of Olympian feuds,Was banish'd from the synods of the gods:They drove him down to earth at the expenseOf us poor mortals, and curtail'd his wingsTo spoil his soaring and secure themselvesFrom his annoyance—Selfish, hard decree!For ever since he roams th' unquiet world,The tyrant and despoiler of mankind. —Cumberland.
Love, the disturber of the peace of heaven,And grand fomenter of Olympian feuds,Was banish'd from the synods of the gods:They drove him down to earth at the expenseOf us poor mortals, and curtail'd his wingsTo spoil his soaring and secure themselvesFrom his annoyance—Selfish, hard decree!For ever since he roams th' unquiet world,The tyrant and despoiler of mankind. —Cumberland.
Love, the disturber of the peace of heaven,
And grand fomenter of Olympian feuds,
Was banish'd from the synods of the gods:
They drove him down to earth at the expense
Of us poor mortals, and curtail'd his wings
To spoil his soaring and secure themselves
From his annoyance—Selfish, hard decree!
For ever since he roams th' unquiet world,
The tyrant and despoiler of mankind. —Cumberland.
Alexis.(Book xiii. § 14, p. 901.)
The man who holds true pleasure to consistIn pampering his vile body, and defiesLove's great divinity, rashly maintainsWeak impious war with an immortal god.The gravest master that the schools can boastNe'er train'd his pupils to such discipline,As Love his votaries, unrivall'd power,The first great deity—and where is he,So stubborn and determinedly stiff,But shall at some time bend the knee to Love,And make obeisance to his mighty shrine? —Cumberland.
The man who holds true pleasure to consistIn pampering his vile body, and defiesLove's great divinity, rashly maintainsWeak impious war with an immortal god.The gravest master that the schools can boastNe'er train'd his pupils to such discipline,As Love his votaries, unrivall'd power,The first great deity—and where is he,So stubborn and determinedly stiff,But shall at some time bend the knee to Love,And make obeisance to his mighty shrine? —Cumberland.
The man who holds true pleasure to consistIn pampering his vile body, and defiesLove's great divinity, rashly maintainsWeak impious war with an immortal god.The gravest master that the schools can boastNe'er train'd his pupils to such discipline,As Love his votaries, unrivall'd power,The first great deity—and where is he,So stubborn and determinedly stiff,But shall at some time bend the knee to Love,And make obeisance to his mighty shrine? —Cumberland.
The man who holds true pleasure to consistIn pampering his vile body, and defiesLove's great divinity, rashly maintainsWeak impious war with an immortal god.The gravest master that the schools can boastNe'er train'd his pupils to such discipline,As Love his votaries, unrivall'd power,The first great deity—and where is he,So stubborn and determinedly stiff,But shall at some time bend the knee to Love,And make obeisance to his mighty shrine? —Cumberland.
The man who holds true pleasure to consist
In pampering his vile body, and defies
Love's great divinity, rashly maintains
Weak impious war with an immortal god.
The gravest master that the schools can boast
Ne'er train'd his pupils to such discipline,
As Love his votaries, unrivall'd power,
The first great deity—and where is he,
So stubborn and determinedly stiff,
But shall at some time bend the knee to Love,
And make obeisance to his mighty shrine? —Cumberland.
Ibycus.(Book xiii. § 17, p. 903.)
Sweetest flower, Euryale!Whom the maids with tresses fair,Sister Graces, make their care—Thee Cythera nourish'd—theePitho, with the radiant brow;And 'mid bowers where roses blowLed thy laughing infancy. —Bland.
Sweetest flower, Euryale!Whom the maids with tresses fair,Sister Graces, make their care—Thee Cythera nourish'd—theePitho, with the radiant brow;And 'mid bowers where roses blowLed thy laughing infancy. —Bland.
Sweetest flower, Euryale!Whom the maids with tresses fair,Sister Graces, make their care—Thee Cythera nourish'd—theePitho, with the radiant brow;And 'mid bowers where roses blowLed thy laughing infancy. —Bland.
Sweetest flower, Euryale!Whom the maids with tresses fair,Sister Graces, make their care—Thee Cythera nourish'd—theePitho, with the radiant brow;And 'mid bowers where roses blowLed thy laughing infancy. —Bland.
Sweetest flower, Euryale!
Whom the maids with tresses fair,
Sister Graces, make their care—
Thee Cythera nourish'd—thee
Pitho, with the radiant brow;
And 'mid bowers where roses blow
Led thy laughing infancy. —Bland.
Alexis.(Book xiii. § 18, p. 904.)
Dost thou see any fellow poll'd and shaven,And askest me from whence the cause should come?He goes unto the wars to filch and raven,And play such pranks he cannot do at home.Such pranks become not those that beards do weare:And what harm is it if long beards we beare?For so it is apparent to be scene,That we are men, not women, by our chin. —Molle.
Dost thou see any fellow poll'd and shaven,And askest me from whence the cause should come?He goes unto the wars to filch and raven,And play such pranks he cannot do at home.Such pranks become not those that beards do weare:And what harm is it if long beards we beare?For so it is apparent to be scene,That we are men, not women, by our chin. —Molle.
Dost thou see any fellow poll'd and shaven,And askest me from whence the cause should come?He goes unto the wars to filch and raven,And play such pranks he cannot do at home.Such pranks become not those that beards do weare:And what harm is it if long beards we beare?For so it is apparent to be scene,That we are men, not women, by our chin. —Molle.
Dost thou see any fellow poll'd and shaven,And askest me from whence the cause should come?He goes unto the wars to filch and raven,And play such pranks he cannot do at home.Such pranks become not those that beards do weare:And what harm is it if long beards we beare?For so it is apparent to be scene,That we are men, not women, by our chin. —Molle.
Dost thou see any fellow poll'd and shaven,
And askest me from whence the cause should come?
He goes unto the wars to filch and raven,
And play such pranks he cannot do at home.
Such pranks become not those that beards do weare:
And what harm is it if long beards we beare?
For so it is apparent to be scene,
That we are men, not women, by our chin. —Molle.
Timocles.(Book xiii. § 22, p. 908.)
Wretch that I am,She had my love, when a mere caper-gatherer,And fortune's smiles as yet were wanting to her.I never pinch'd nor spared in my expenses,Yet now—doors closely barr'd are all the recompenceThat waits on former bounties ill bestow'd. —Mitchell.
Wretch that I am,She had my love, when a mere caper-gatherer,And fortune's smiles as yet were wanting to her.I never pinch'd nor spared in my expenses,Yet now—doors closely barr'd are all the recompenceThat waits on former bounties ill bestow'd. —Mitchell.
Wretch that I am,She had my love, when a mere caper-gatherer,And fortune's smiles as yet were wanting to her.I never pinch'd nor spared in my expenses,Yet now—doors closely barr'd are all the recompenceThat waits on former bounties ill bestow'd. —Mitchell.
Wretch that I am,She had my love, when a mere caper-gatherer,And fortune's smiles as yet were wanting to her.I never pinch'd nor spared in my expenses,Yet now—doors closely barr'd are all the recompenceThat waits on former bounties ill bestow'd. —Mitchell.
Wretch that I am,
She had my love, when a mere caper-gatherer,
And fortune's smiles as yet were wanting to her.
I never pinch'd nor spared in my expenses,
Yet now—doors closely barr'd are all the recompence
That waits on former bounties ill bestow'd. —Mitchell.
Alexis.(Book xiii. § 23, p. 908.)
They fly at all, and, as their funds increase,With fresh recruits they still augment their stock,Moulding the young novitiate to her trade;Form, features, manners, everything so changed,That not a trace of former self is left.Is the wench short? a triple sole of corkExalts the pigmy to a proper size.Is she too tall of stature? a low chairSoftens the fault, and a fine easy stoopLowers her to standard-pitch.—If narrow-hipt,A handsome wadding readily suppliesWhat nature stints, and all beholders cry,See what plump haunches!—Hath the nymph perchanceA high round paunch, stuft like our comic drolls,And strutting out foreright? a good stout buskPushing athwart shall force the intruder back.Hath she red brows? a little soot will cure 'em.Is she too black? the ceruse makes her fair:Too pale of hue? the opal comes in aid.Hath she a beauty out of sight? disclose it!Strip nature bare without a blush.—Fine teeth?Let her affect one everlasting grin,Laugh without stint—but ah! if laugh she cannot,And her lips won't obey, take a fine twigOf myrtle, shape it like a butcher's skewer,And prop them open, set her on the bitDay after day, when out of sight, till useGrows second nature, and the pearly row,Will she or will she not, perforce appears. —Cumberland.
They fly at all, and, as their funds increase,With fresh recruits they still augment their stock,Moulding the young novitiate to her trade;Form, features, manners, everything so changed,That not a trace of former self is left.Is the wench short? a triple sole of corkExalts the pigmy to a proper size.Is she too tall of stature? a low chairSoftens the fault, and a fine easy stoopLowers her to standard-pitch.—If narrow-hipt,A handsome wadding readily suppliesWhat nature stints, and all beholders cry,See what plump haunches!—Hath the nymph perchanceA high round paunch, stuft like our comic drolls,And strutting out foreright? a good stout buskPushing athwart shall force the intruder back.Hath she red brows? a little soot will cure 'em.Is she too black? the ceruse makes her fair:Too pale of hue? the opal comes in aid.Hath she a beauty out of sight? disclose it!Strip nature bare without a blush.—Fine teeth?Let her affect one everlasting grin,Laugh without stint—but ah! if laugh she cannot,And her lips won't obey, take a fine twigOf myrtle, shape it like a butcher's skewer,And prop them open, set her on the bitDay after day, when out of sight, till useGrows second nature, and the pearly row,Will she or will she not, perforce appears. —Cumberland.
They fly at all, and, as their funds increase,With fresh recruits they still augment their stock,Moulding the young novitiate to her trade;Form, features, manners, everything so changed,That not a trace of former self is left.Is the wench short? a triple sole of corkExalts the pigmy to a proper size.Is she too tall of stature? a low chairSoftens the fault, and a fine easy stoopLowers her to standard-pitch.—If narrow-hipt,A handsome wadding readily suppliesWhat nature stints, and all beholders cry,See what plump haunches!—Hath the nymph perchanceA high round paunch, stuft like our comic drolls,And strutting out foreright? a good stout buskPushing athwart shall force the intruder back.Hath she red brows? a little soot will cure 'em.Is she too black? the ceruse makes her fair:Too pale of hue? the opal comes in aid.Hath she a beauty out of sight? disclose it!Strip nature bare without a blush.—Fine teeth?Let her affect one everlasting grin,Laugh without stint—but ah! if laugh she cannot,And her lips won't obey, take a fine twigOf myrtle, shape it like a butcher's skewer,And prop them open, set her on the bitDay after day, when out of sight, till useGrows second nature, and the pearly row,Will she or will she not, perforce appears. —Cumberland.
They fly at all, and, as their funds increase,With fresh recruits they still augment their stock,Moulding the young novitiate to her trade;Form, features, manners, everything so changed,That not a trace of former self is left.Is the wench short? a triple sole of corkExalts the pigmy to a proper size.Is she too tall of stature? a low chairSoftens the fault, and a fine easy stoopLowers her to standard-pitch.—If narrow-hipt,A handsome wadding readily suppliesWhat nature stints, and all beholders cry,See what plump haunches!—Hath the nymph perchanceA high round paunch, stuft like our comic drolls,And strutting out foreright? a good stout buskPushing athwart shall force the intruder back.Hath she red brows? a little soot will cure 'em.Is she too black? the ceruse makes her fair:Too pale of hue? the opal comes in aid.Hath she a beauty out of sight? disclose it!Strip nature bare without a blush.—Fine teeth?Let her affect one everlasting grin,Laugh without stint—but ah! if laugh she cannot,And her lips won't obey, take a fine twigOf myrtle, shape it like a butcher's skewer,And prop them open, set her on the bitDay after day, when out of sight, till useGrows second nature, and the pearly row,Will she or will she not, perforce appears. —Cumberland.
They fly at all, and, as their funds increase,
With fresh recruits they still augment their stock,
Moulding the young novitiate to her trade;
Form, features, manners, everything so changed,
That not a trace of former self is left.
Is the wench short? a triple sole of cork
Exalts the pigmy to a proper size.
Is she too tall of stature? a low chair
Softens the fault, and a fine easy stoop
Lowers her to standard-pitch.—If narrow-hipt,
A handsome wadding readily supplies
What nature stints, and all beholders cry,
See what plump haunches!—Hath the nymph perchance
A high round paunch, stuft like our comic drolls,
And strutting out foreright? a good stout busk
Pushing athwart shall force the intruder back.
Hath she red brows? a little soot will cure 'em.
Is she too black? the ceruse makes her fair:
Too pale of hue? the opal comes in aid.
Hath she a beauty out of sight? disclose it!
Strip nature bare without a blush.—Fine teeth?
Let her affect one everlasting grin,
Laugh without stint—but ah! if laugh she cannot,
And her lips won't obey, take a fine twig
Of myrtle, shape it like a butcher's skewer,
And prop them open, set her on the bit
Day after day, when out of sight, till use
Grows second nature, and the pearly row,
Will she or will she not, perforce appears. —Cumberland.
Epicrates.(Book xiii. § 26, p. 911.)
Alas for Laïs!A slut, a wine-bibber—her only careIs to supply the cravings of the day,To eat and drink—to masticate and tipple.The eagle and herself are fittest parallels.In the first prime and lustlihood of youth,The mountain king ne'er quits his royal eyrie,But lamb, or straggling sheep, or earth-couch'd hare,Caught in his grip, repays the fierce descent:But when old age hath sapp'd his mettle's vigour,He sits upon the temple tops, forlorn,In all the squalid wretchedness of famine,And merely serves to point an augurs tale.Just such another prodigy is Laïs!Full teeming coffers swell'd her pride of youth:Her person ever fresh and new, your satrapWas more accessible than she;—but now,That life is flagging at the goal, and likeAn unstrung lute, her limbs are out of tune,She is become so lavish of her presence,That being daily swallow'd by men's eyes,They surfeit at the sight.She's grown companion to the common streets—Want her who will, a stater, a three-obol piece,Or a mere draught of wine brings her to hand!Nay, place a silver stiver in your palm,And, shocking tameness! she will stoop forthwithTo pick it out. —Mitchell.
Alas for Laïs!A slut, a wine-bibber—her only careIs to supply the cravings of the day,To eat and drink—to masticate and tipple.The eagle and herself are fittest parallels.In the first prime and lustlihood of youth,The mountain king ne'er quits his royal eyrie,But lamb, or straggling sheep, or earth-couch'd hare,Caught in his grip, repays the fierce descent:But when old age hath sapp'd his mettle's vigour,He sits upon the temple tops, forlorn,In all the squalid wretchedness of famine,And merely serves to point an augurs tale.Just such another prodigy is Laïs!Full teeming coffers swell'd her pride of youth:Her person ever fresh and new, your satrapWas more accessible than she;—but now,That life is flagging at the goal, and likeAn unstrung lute, her limbs are out of tune,She is become so lavish of her presence,That being daily swallow'd by men's eyes,They surfeit at the sight.She's grown companion to the common streets—Want her who will, a stater, a three-obol piece,Or a mere draught of wine brings her to hand!Nay, place a silver stiver in your palm,And, shocking tameness! she will stoop forthwithTo pick it out. —Mitchell.
Alas for Laïs!A slut, a wine-bibber—her only careIs to supply the cravings of the day,To eat and drink—to masticate and tipple.The eagle and herself are fittest parallels.In the first prime and lustlihood of youth,The mountain king ne'er quits his royal eyrie,But lamb, or straggling sheep, or earth-couch'd hare,Caught in his grip, repays the fierce descent:But when old age hath sapp'd his mettle's vigour,He sits upon the temple tops, forlorn,In all the squalid wretchedness of famine,And merely serves to point an augurs tale.Just such another prodigy is Laïs!Full teeming coffers swell'd her pride of youth:Her person ever fresh and new, your satrapWas more accessible than she;—but now,That life is flagging at the goal, and likeAn unstrung lute, her limbs are out of tune,She is become so lavish of her presence,That being daily swallow'd by men's eyes,They surfeit at the sight.She's grown companion to the common streets—Want her who will, a stater, a three-obol piece,Or a mere draught of wine brings her to hand!Nay, place a silver stiver in your palm,And, shocking tameness! she will stoop forthwithTo pick it out. —Mitchell.
Alas for Laïs!A slut, a wine-bibber—her only careIs to supply the cravings of the day,To eat and drink—to masticate and tipple.The eagle and herself are fittest parallels.In the first prime and lustlihood of youth,The mountain king ne'er quits his royal eyrie,But lamb, or straggling sheep, or earth-couch'd hare,Caught in his grip, repays the fierce descent:But when old age hath sapp'd his mettle's vigour,He sits upon the temple tops, forlorn,In all the squalid wretchedness of famine,And merely serves to point an augurs tale.Just such another prodigy is Laïs!Full teeming coffers swell'd her pride of youth:Her person ever fresh and new, your satrapWas more accessible than she;—but now,That life is flagging at the goal, and likeAn unstrung lute, her limbs are out of tune,She is become so lavish of her presence,That being daily swallow'd by men's eyes,They surfeit at the sight.She's grown companion to the common streets—Want her who will, a stater, a three-obol piece,Or a mere draught of wine brings her to hand!Nay, place a silver stiver in your palm,And, shocking tameness! she will stoop forthwithTo pick it out. —Mitchell.
Alas for Laïs!
A slut, a wine-bibber—her only care
Is to supply the cravings of the day,
To eat and drink—to masticate and tipple.
The eagle and herself are fittest parallels.
In the first prime and lustlihood of youth,
The mountain king ne'er quits his royal eyrie,
But lamb, or straggling sheep, or earth-couch'd hare,
Caught in his grip, repays the fierce descent:
But when old age hath sapp'd his mettle's vigour,
He sits upon the temple tops, forlorn,
In all the squalid wretchedness of famine,
And merely serves to point an augurs tale.
Just such another prodigy is Laïs!
Full teeming coffers swell'd her pride of youth:
Her person ever fresh and new, your satrap
Was more accessible than she;—but now,
That life is flagging at the goal, and like
An unstrung lute, her limbs are out of tune,
She is become so lavish of her presence,
That being daily swallow'd by men's eyes,
They surfeit at the sight.
She's grown companion to the common streets—
Want her who will, a stater, a three-obol piece,
Or a mere draught of wine brings her to hand!
Nay, place a silver stiver in your palm,
And, shocking tameness! she will stoop forthwith
To pick it out. —Mitchell.
The same.
Laïs herself's a lazy drunkard now,And looks to nothing but her daily wineAnd daily meat. There has befallen herWhat happens to the eagle; who, when young,Swoops from the mountain in his pride of strength,And hurries off on high the sheep and hare;But, when he's aged, sits him dully downUpon some temple's top, weak, lean, and starved;And this is thought a direful prodigy.And Laïs would be rightly reckon'd one;For when she was a nestling, fair and youthful,The guineas made her fierce; and you might seeE'en Pharnabázus easier than her.But now that her years are running four-mile heats,And all the junctures of her frame are loose,'Tis easy both to see and spit upon her;And she will go to any drinking-bout;And take a crown-piece, aye, or e'en a sixpence,And welcome all men, be they old or young.Nay, she's become so tame, my dearest sir,She'll even take the money from your hand. —Walsh.
Laïs herself's a lazy drunkard now,And looks to nothing but her daily wineAnd daily meat. There has befallen herWhat happens to the eagle; who, when young,Swoops from the mountain in his pride of strength,And hurries off on high the sheep and hare;But, when he's aged, sits him dully downUpon some temple's top, weak, lean, and starved;And this is thought a direful prodigy.And Laïs would be rightly reckon'd one;For when she was a nestling, fair and youthful,The guineas made her fierce; and you might seeE'en Pharnabázus easier than her.But now that her years are running four-mile heats,And all the junctures of her frame are loose,'Tis easy both to see and spit upon her;And she will go to any drinking-bout;And take a crown-piece, aye, or e'en a sixpence,And welcome all men, be they old or young.Nay, she's become so tame, my dearest sir,She'll even take the money from your hand. —Walsh.
Laïs herself's a lazy drunkard now,And looks to nothing but her daily wineAnd daily meat. There has befallen herWhat happens to the eagle; who, when young,Swoops from the mountain in his pride of strength,And hurries off on high the sheep and hare;But, when he's aged, sits him dully downUpon some temple's top, weak, lean, and starved;And this is thought a direful prodigy.And Laïs would be rightly reckon'd one;For when she was a nestling, fair and youthful,The guineas made her fierce; and you might seeE'en Pharnabázus easier than her.But now that her years are running four-mile heats,And all the junctures of her frame are loose,'Tis easy both to see and spit upon her;And she will go to any drinking-bout;And take a crown-piece, aye, or e'en a sixpence,And welcome all men, be they old or young.Nay, she's become so tame, my dearest sir,She'll even take the money from your hand. —Walsh.
Laïs herself's a lazy drunkard now,And looks to nothing but her daily wineAnd daily meat. There has befallen herWhat happens to the eagle; who, when young,Swoops from the mountain in his pride of strength,And hurries off on high the sheep and hare;But, when he's aged, sits him dully downUpon some temple's top, weak, lean, and starved;And this is thought a direful prodigy.And Laïs would be rightly reckon'd one;For when she was a nestling, fair and youthful,The guineas made her fierce; and you might seeE'en Pharnabázus easier than her.But now that her years are running four-mile heats,And all the junctures of her frame are loose,'Tis easy both to see and spit upon her;And she will go to any drinking-bout;And take a crown-piece, aye, or e'en a sixpence,And welcome all men, be they old or young.Nay, she's become so tame, my dearest sir,She'll even take the money from your hand. —Walsh.
Laïs herself's a lazy drunkard now,
And looks to nothing but her daily wine
And daily meat. There has befallen her
What happens to the eagle; who, when young,
Swoops from the mountain in his pride of strength,
And hurries off on high the sheep and hare;
But, when he's aged, sits him dully down
Upon some temple's top, weak, lean, and starved;
And this is thought a direful prodigy.
And Laïs would be rightly reckon'd one;
For when she was a nestling, fair and youthful,
The guineas made her fierce; and you might see
E'en Pharnabázus easier than her.
But now that her years are running four-mile heats,
And all the junctures of her frame are loose,
'Tis easy both to see and spit upon her;
And she will go to any drinking-bout;
And take a crown-piece, aye, or e'en a sixpence,
And welcome all men, be they old or young.
Nay, she's become so tame, my dearest sir,
She'll even take the money from your hand. —Walsh.
Plato.(Book xiii. § 56, p. 940.)