Macaronic Poetry

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Appleton Morgan
Hurd and Houghton, 1872 - 300 oldal

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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.
179. oldal - How dulce to vive occult to mortal eyes, Dorm on the herb with none to supervise, Carp the suave berries from the crescent vine, And bibe the flow from longicaudate kine! To me, alas ! no verdurous visions come, Save yon exiguous...
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...
241. oldal - Glares at them with terrible eyes, suffectis sanguine et igni, And, never conceiving their chief will so quickly deal him a floorer, Opens wide to receive them at once, his linguis...

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