An Introduction to Greek Verse Composition with Exercises

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Rivingtons, 1885 - Greek language - 225 pages
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Page 131 - tis his will : Let but the commons hear this testament, (Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read) And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds, And dip their napkins in his sacred blood ; Yea, beg a hair of him for memory, And, dying, mention it within their wills, Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy, Unto their issue.
Page 126 - But let the frame of things disjoint, both the worlds suffer, Ere we will eat our meal in fear, and sleep In the affliction of these terrible dreams, That shake us nightly : better be with the dead, Whom we, to gain our peace, have sent to peace, Than on the torture of the mind to lie In restless ecstasy.
Page 133 - Good sir, why do you start ; and seem to fear Things that do sound so fair ? — I' the name of truth, Are ye fantastical...
Page 130 - If by your art, my dearest father, you have Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them : The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch, But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's cheek, Dashes the fire out.
Page 130 - But yesterday the word of Caesar might Have stood against the world : now lies he there, And none so poor to do him reverence.
Page 121 - Which might have pleased the eyes of many men. What good should follow this, if this were done? What harm, undone? Deep harm to disobey, Seeing obedience is the bond of rule. Were it well to obey then, if a king demand An act unprofitable, against himself?
Page 123 - Nor the other light of life continue long, But yield to double darkness nigh at hand : So much I feel my genial spirits droop, My hopes all flat, nature within me seems In all her functions weary of herself ; My race of glory run, and race of shame, And I shall shortly be with them that rest.
Page 142 - Call'd me polluted: shall I kill myself? What help in that? I cannot kill my sin, If soul be soul; nor can I kill my shame; No, nor by living can I live it down. The days will grow to weeks, the weeks to months, The months will add themselves and make the years. The years will roll into the centuries, And mine will ever be a name of scorn.
Page 140 - Alack ! there lies more peril in thine eye, Than twenty of their swords : look thou but sweet, And I am proof against their enmity.
Page 124 - Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests; I bear a charmed life , which must not yield To one of woman born.

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