Latin proverbs and quotations: With translations and parallel passages and a copious English index

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S. Low, son, and Marston, 1869 - 505 páginas

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Página 184 - O, how this spring of love resembleth The uncertain glory of an April day ; Which now shows all the beauty of the sun, And by and by a cloud takes all away ! Re-enter PANTHINO.
Página 42 - Of every hearer; for it so falls out That what we have we prize not to the worth Whiles we enjoy it, but being lack'd and lost, Why, then we rack the value, then we find The virtue that possession would not show us Whiles it was ours.
Página 447 - Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world, Like a Colossus ; and we petty men Walk under his huge legs, and peep about To find ourselves dishonourable graves.
Página 267 - The man that hails you Tom or Jack, And proves by thumps upon your back How he esteems your merit, Is such a friend, that one had need Be very much his friend indeed, To pardon or to bear it.
Página 389 - Howe'er it be, it seems to me, Tis only noble to be good. Kind hearts are more than coronets, And simple faith than Norman blood.
Página 95 - What boots it at one gate to make defence, And at another to let in the foe, Effeminately vanquished?
Página 91 - GATHER ye rosebuds while ye may, Old Time is still a-flying; And this same flower that smiles to-day, To-morrow will be dying. The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun, The higher he's a-getting, The sooner will his race be run, And nearer he's to setting. That age is best which is the first, When youth and blood are warmer; But being spent, the worse and worst Times still succeed the former. Then be not coy, but...
Página 103 - Nomentanus?" pergis pugnantia secum frontibus adversis componere. non ego avarum cum veto te fieri, vappam iubeo ac nebulonem. est inter Tanain quiddam socerumque Viselli : 105 est modus in rebus, sunt certi denique fines, quos ultra citraque nequit consistere rectum.
Página 60 - My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, And every tongue brings in a several tale, And every tale condemns me for a villain.
Página 441 - Yestreen, when to the trembling string The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha', To thee my fancy took its wing, I sat, but neither heard nor saw: Tho' this was fair, and that was braw, And yon the toast of a' the town, I sigh'd and said amang them a'; — "Ye are na Mary Morison!

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