XVIII. Obtulit eis pecunias. Act. viii. 18. Quorsum hos hic nummos profers? quorsum, impie Si mon? Non ille hic Judas, sed tibi Petrus adest. He offered them money. Money! what wouldst thou, impious? Look and see, 'Tis Peter, not Iscariot, speaks to thee. Wouldst thou buy God? Nay, Simon, change thy tone, And try to sell that demon of thine own. CL. XIX. Umbra S. Petri medetur aegrotis. Act. v. 15. Conveniunt alacres, sic, sic juvat ire sub umbras, The shadow of St. Peter heals the sick. Beneath that shadow they delight to crowd; G. XXI. Sacerdos quidam descendens eadem via vidit, et praeteriit. Spectasne, ah, placidisque oculis mea vulnera tractas? Pax oris quam torva tui est! quam triste serenum ! And a certaine priest comming that way looked on him, and passed by. Why dost thou wound my wounds, O thou that passest by, Handling and turning them with an unwounded eye? The calm that cools thine eye does shipwrack mine; for O, Unmov'd to see one wretched is to make him so. CR. ANOTHER RENDERING. Dost look upon my wounds, serene-faced Priest? Thy placid eyes give wounds more deep and sore. O, thy calm stare avert! pass on, at least : They who see woe unmov'd cause it, and more. G. ANOTHER VERSION. Canst look, and by with look so tranquil pass, Nor heed my wounds? O, wounds on wounds, alas ! O peace, too grim! on it set little store: Who looks unmov'd on misery makes it more. VOL. II. A. h XXII. Leprosi ingrati. Luc. xvii. Dum linquunt Christum, al morbus! sanantur euntes: At sani Christum, mens ah male-sana! relinquunt: The ungrateful lepers. Whilst leaving Christ-ah, fell disease!-- Their malady their medicine is, Because He will'd it so. But healed now-ah, mind diseas'd!— Their healing their disease is now, Bred in an ingrate heart. G. XXIII. Ne soliciti estote tu crastinum. Matt. vi. 34. I, miser, inque tuas rape non tua tempora curas : Be ye not fretted about to-morrow. Go, wretched mortal, antedate the day, Work thyself mis'ries, in a perverse way, Enough for me the day's cares in the day, Enough the tears that daily, yea or nay, I have no leisure thus to antedate The coming woe, Nor to-day darken with to-morrow's fate; And so I go. ANOTHER VERSION. Wretch, to thy woes add not to-morrow morn; And haste not thou to groan with ills unborn. Each day's laments, each hour's griefs, me suffice; Each morn, noon, eve, with rueful weeping eyes. No leisure is to look for griefs to be: Stir not to-day to-morrow's G. |