Fables Antient and Modern: Translated Into Verse from Homer, Ovid, Boccace, and Chaucer: with Original Poems

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J. Tonson, 1713 - Fables - 550 pages
 

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[trad] Dryden, John] Fables Antient and Modern: Translated Into Verse from Homer, Ovid, Boccace, publicado 1713, Printed for J. Tonson, 550 páginas.

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Page 374 - At last divine Cecilia came, Inventress of the vocal frame ; The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store, Enlarged the former narrow bounds, And added length to solemn sounds, With nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before. Let old Timotheus yield the prize, Or both divide the crown ; He raised a mortal to the skies ; She drew an angel down.
Page 372 - Revenge, revenge, Timotheus cries, See the furies arise ! See the snakes that they rear, How they hiss in their hair ! And the sparkles that flash from their eyes ! Behold a ghastly band, Each a torch in his hand...
Page 371 - War, he sung, is toil and trouble; Honour, but an empty bubble; Never ending, still beginning, Fighting still, and still destroying; If the world be worth thy winning, Think, O think it worth enjoying! Lovely Thais sits beside thee, Take the good the gods provide thee!
Page 89 - Bade cease the war ; pronouncing from on high, Arcite of Thebes had won the beauteous Emily. The sound of trumpets to the voice replied, And round the royal lists the heralds cried, Arcite of Thebes has won the beauteous bride.
Page 373 - And unburied remain Inglorious on the plain : Give the vengeance due To the valiant crew ! Behold how they toss their torches on high, How they point to the Persian abodes And glittering temples of their hostile gods.
Page 367 - None but the brave, None but the brave, None but the brave deserves the fair. Timotheus, plac'd on high Amid the tuneful quire, With flying fingers touch'd the lyre : The trembling notes ascend the sky, And heavenly joys inspire.
Page 170 - Such as it is, the' offence is all my own ; And what to Guiscard is already done, Or to be done, is doom'd by thy decree, That, if not executed first by thee, Shall on my person be perform'd by me.
Page 507 - Nothing reserved or sullen was to see; But sweet regards, and pleasing sanctity: Mild was his accent, and his action free. With eloquence innate his tongue was arm'd; Though harsh the precept, yet the preacher charm'd. For letting down the golden chain from high, He drew his audience upward to the sky...

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