Laocoon: an essay on the limits of painting and poetry, tr. by E.C. Beasley

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Page 166 - Thou, nature, art my goddess ; to thy law My services are bound : Wherefore should I Stand in the plague of custom ; and permit The curiosity of nations to deprive me, For that I am some twelve or fourteen moonshines Lag of a brother...
Page 167 - But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass; I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty To strut before a wanton ambling nymph...
Page 244 - Soft were my numbers ; who could take offence While pure Description held the place of sense?
Page 151 - Bianca nieve il bel collo, e '1 petto latte; il collo tondo, il petto colmo e largo: due pome acerbe, e pur d'avorio fatte, vengono e van come onda al primo margo, quando piacevole aura il mar combatte.
Page 51 - Bis medium amplexi, bis collo squamea circum Terga dati, superant capite et cervicibus altis.
Page 167 - Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them; Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace...
Page 166 - Lag of a brother? Why bastard? Wherefore base? When my dimensions are as well compact, My mind as generous, and my shape as true, As honest madam's issue? Why brand they us With base? With baseness? bastardy? base, base?
Page 220 - Sibila lambebant linguis vibrantibus ora. Diffugimus visu exsangues. Illi agmine certo Laocoonta petunt, et primum parva duorum Corpora natorum serpens amplexus uterque Implicat, et miseros morsu depascitur artus.
Page 144 - Tandem progreditur magna stipante caterva, Sidoniam picto chlamydem circumdata limbo. Cui pharetra ex auro, crines nodantur in aurum, aurea purpuream subnectit fibula vestem.
Page 141 - Sotto quel sta, quasi fra due vallette La bocca sparsa di natio cinabro; Quivi due filze son di perle elette, Che chiude ed apre un bello, e dolce labro: Quindi escon le cortesi parolette Da render molle ogni cor rozzo e scabro: Quivi si forma quel soave riso, Ch'apre a sua posta in terra il paradiso.

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