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οργή τέχώρουν προς βίαν πειθαρχίας,

ώσπερ ξυν ανθρώποισιν άψοντες μάχην. ΓΕΡ. Λέγουσι δ' ως φάγοιεν αλλήλους. ΡΟ ΣΣ.

Εγώ φάγοντας είδον, και κατέπτησσον φόβω.

THE SAME TRANSLATED.

Mecum scande volans cærula nubium ;
Magnâ voce canens, usque canens vola!
Duc me, suavis alauda,

,
Coelum carmine personans,

Dum visam, tibi qui sic placeat, locum.
Jam deserta diu tristia permeo; ;

Ægrum cor mihi languet :
At si quis mihi coelitâm

Pennas indueret, me tibi jungerem.
Nam dulcis furor est cantibus in tuis !

Duc me, duc ubi cælum
Purâ te recreat dape.

Joyous as morning,
Thou art laughing and scorning;
Thou hast a nest for thy love and thy rest;
And though little troubled with sloth,
Drunken lark! thou wouldst be loth
To be such a traveller as I.

Happy, happy liver,
With a soul as strong as a mountain river,
Pouring out praise to the almighty Giver !
Joy and jollity be with us both!

Alas! my journey, rugged and uneven,
Through prickly moors or dusty ways must wind.
But hearing thee, or others of thy kind,
As full of gladness and as free of heaven,
I, with my fate contented, will plod on,
And hope for higher raptures, when life's day

is done.

,

Aurorâ levior, lætior ebrio
Cum risu volitas : sed placidus tibi

Est cum conjuge nidus:
Nolles quas ego prosequi

Errabunda vias, strenua quamlibet.
Felix! montivago flumine fortior,

Gratas omnipotenti
Laudes rite canis Deo.

Felices ego sim tuque! Sed asperos
Per dumos mihi, per squalida pulvere

Et spinosa vagandum:
Esto: te tamen audiens,

Te coetusque tuos, par tibi gaudium
Sumam, tollam animum liber in æthera;

Vitæ spe melioris,
Hujus tædia perferam.

FROM RICHARD III.

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Have I a tongue to doom my brother's death,
And shall that tongue give pardon to a slave ?
My brother kill'd no man, his fault was thought ;
And yet his punishment was bitter death.
Who sued to me for him ? who, in my wrath,

,
Kneeld at my feet, and bade me be advised ?
Who spake of brotherhood ? who spake of love ?
Who told me, how the poor soul did forsake
The mighty Warwick, and did fight for me?
Who told me, in the field at Tewkesbury,
When Oxford had me down, he rescued me,
And said, Dear brother, live, and be a king ?
Who told me, when we both lay in the field,
Frozen almost to death, how he did lap me
Even in his garments; and did give himself,
All thin and naked, to the numb-cold night?
All this from my remembrance brutish wrath
Sinfully pluck'd, and not a man of

you Had so much grace to put it in my

mind. But, when your carters, or your waiting-vassals,

THE SAME TRANSLATED.

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'Αρ' ούν καταγνούς του κασιγνητου θανείν, έπειτα δούλοις ανδράσιν ξυγγνώσομαι και αδελφός ουμός ουδέν έκτεινεν βροτών, βουλών δ' άποινα, θάνατον ήντλησεν πικρόν: και μην εκείνου τίς μ' έδεϊθ' ύπερ; τίς ήν ο νουθετήσας γονυπετής θυμούμενον, φύσιν ξύναιμoν και φιλόφρονας τρόπους φράζων; τίς είπεν, ως ο δυσδαίμων ανήρ, μέγαν στρατηγόν πενθερόν θ' αυτου λιπών, έμοι ξυνέμαχησ; οιά μ' 'Αρέος εν κλώνω κείνος πεσόντ ερρύσατ', έκ τ' ηύδησέπος, ζη και τυράννευ', ώ κασιγνητόν κάρα και τίς είφ, υπαιθρίοισιν ως έκείμεθον πάγοισιν ημιθνήθ', ο δ' άμπισχών έμε τοίς οίσι πέπλοις, είτα γυμνωθεν δέμας αυτόν παρέσχε νυκτός ατηρώ κρύει ; ήδειν τάδ' οργή δ' ηγριωμένος τότε κακώς διώλεσ'· ουδ' άρ' εις υμών έμού ούτως έκήδεθ', ώστ' αναμνήσαι πάλιν αλλ' οικετών γ' επεί τις ή διακόνων

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