An introduction to Greek verse composition, with exercises, by A. Sidgwick and F.D. Morice

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Pagina 129 - 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.
Pagina 124 - 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.
Pagina 128 - But yesterday the word of Caesar might Have stood against the world : now lies he there, And none so poor to do him reverence.
Pagina 119 - 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?
Pagina 112 - Your infants in your arms, and there have sat The live-long day with patient expectation To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome...
Pagina 121 - 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.
Pagina 119 - And rumours of a doubt? But were this kept, Stored in some treasure-house of mighty kings, Some one might show it at a joust of arms, Saying, 'King Arthur's sword, Excalibur, Wrought by the lonely maiden of the Lake. Nine years she wrought it, sitting in the deeps Upon the hidden bases of the hills.
Pagina 96 - Come, come, no time for lamentation now, Nor much more cause ; Samson hath quit himself Like Samson, and heroicly hath finish'd A life heroic, on his enemies Fully revenged ; hath left them years of mourning...
Pagina 140 - 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.
Pagina 122 - 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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