Mit mondanak mások - Írjon ismertetőt
Nem találtunk ismertetőket a szokott helyeken.
Más kiadások - Összes megtekintése
anagram appears atque beſt called calvis calvos Carmina catti compoſed cuncti curious death Doctor Echo edition Engliſh epigram eſt eyes firſt French give given Greek green hand hear heart honor hunc illi inter INTROD Itali John lady laſt Latin learned letter lines live MACA Macaronic means mihi moſt muſt Napoleon never nobis nunc nunquam omnes once palindrome poem poet Porcelli Porci PORCO Porcorum Porro printed publiſhed PUGNA quæ quam Quid quod rhyme RONIC POETRY ſaid ſame ſays ſee ſhall ſhe ſhould ſome ſpecimen ſuch ſunt tell thee theſe thoſe thou tion tongue tranſlation turn uſe verſe whole wine writing written wrote
20. oldal - They that tarry long at the wine; they that go to seek mixed wine. Look not thou upon the wine when it is red, when it giveth his colour in the cup, when it moveth itself aright: at the last it biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an adder.
92. oldal - Short life in truth this thing doth try. Wherefore come death, and let me die. Come, gentle death, the ebb of care, The ebb of care, the flood of life; The flood of life, the joyful fare; The joyful fare, the end of strife ; The end of strife, that thing wish I, Wherefore come death, and let me die.
10. oldal - Fresch fulgent flurist fragrant flour formois, lantern to lufe, of ladeis lamp and lot, cherie maist chaist, cheif charbucle and chois, smaill sweit smaragde smelling but smit of smot...
37. oldal - Lamb, then Dean of the Arches, shot her through and through, with an arrow borrowed from her own quiver...
19. oldal - As for altars and pyramids in poetry, he has outdone all men that way ; for he has made a gridiron and a frying-pan in verse, that, besides the likeness in shape, the very tone and sound of the words did perfectly represent the noise that is made by these utensils, such as the old poet called Sartago loquendi.
99. oldal - Pshaw!" Lover. Say, what will win that frisking coney Into the toils of matrimony ! Echo. "Money!" Lover. Has Phoebe not a heavenly brow? Is it not white as pearl — as snow ? Echo. "Ass, no!
78. oldal - I cannot eat but little meat, My stomach is not good: But sure I think that I can drink With him that wears a hood.
104. oldal - Left the warm precinfts of the chearful day, Nor caft one longing, ling'ring look behind ? On fome fond breaft the parting foul relies, Some pious drops the...