The Deipnosophists, Or, Banquet of the Learned of Athenaeus, Volume 3

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Henry G. Bohn, 1854 - Cooking - 1252 pages
 

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Page 819 - Olympian brow More swift than Mars, and more than Vulcan slow ? Yet Vulcan conquers, and the God of arms Must pay the penalty for lawless charms.
Page 1111 - The heroes' happy isles shall be The bright abode allotted thee. I'll wreathe my sword in myrtle bough, The sword that laid Hipparchus low, When at Minerva's adverse fane He knelt and never rose again. While freedom's name is understood, You shall delight the wise and good ; You dared to set your country free, And gave her laws equality.
Page 1136 - And he who meditates on other's woes Shall in that meditation lose his own : Call, then, the tragic poet to your aid, Hear him, and take instruction from the stage ; Let Telephus appear; behold a prince, A spectacle of poverty and pain, Wretched in both.— And what if you are poor?
Page 1191 - 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...
Page 823 - To dress, to dance, to sing, our sole delight, The feast or bath by day, and love by night...
Page 1127 - A third conceived With due submission it might be a plant. The difference methought was such, that each Might keep his own opinion and be right; But soon a bolder voice broke up the council, And, stepping forward, a Sicilian quack Told them their question was abuse of time, — It was a cabbage, neither more nor less, And they were fools to prate so much about it.
Page 1123 - There is a certain hospitable air In a friend's house, that tells me I am welcome: The porter opens to me with a smile ; The yard dog wags his tail, the servant runs, Beats up the cushion, spreads the couch, and says — Sit down, good Sir!
Page 1199 - Alcaeus strung his sounding lyre, And smote it with a hand of fire, To Sappho, fondest of the fair, Chanting the loud and lofty air. Whilst old Anacreon, wet with wine, And crown'd with wreaths of Lesbiau vine To his unnatural minion sung Ditties that put to blush the young.
Page 1156 - I will put by to be resolv'd in this. B. There is a juice drawn from the Carpin tree, To which your dove instinctively is wedded With a most loving appetite ; with this...

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