Horatii Ode. Ille & nefasto te posuit die &c. Ἑλληνισί. Ωρα σε κεῖνος θῆκεν ἀποφράδι Αἴτιον, ἐσσομένων τ ̓ ἔλεγχος. Κεῖνος τοκῆος θρύψε καὶ ἀυχένα, Τὰ δῆτα κόλχων φάρμακα, καὶ κακοῦ Πάσης μὲν ὥρης πᾶν ἐπικίνδυνον. Πάρθων μάχημον Ρωμαϊκος φυγήν, Σχέδον σχέδον πῶς Περσεφόνης ἴδον Σαπφὼ πατρίδος μεμφομένην κόραις, Ευφημέουσαι δ' ἀμφοτέρων σκιαὶ Τί θαῦμ ̓; ἐκείναιρ θὴς ὅτε τρίκρανος Βότρυχες, ἡσυχίων ἐχιδνῶν. Καὶ δὴ Προμηθεύς, καὶ Πέλοπος πατὴρ Αγειν λεόντας Ωρίων δὲ Οὐ φιλέει, φοβεράς τε λύγκας. In Revd. Dre. Brooke Epitaphium. Osuit sub istâ (non gravi) caput terrâ Didicit vereri, plurimumque suspenso ER In obitum Rev. V. Dris Mansell, Rgo iterum in lacrymas, & sævi murmura planctûs Scilicet illa novas quæ jam fert dextra sagittas, Ite ô, quos nostri jungunt consortia damni; Et sociis animos conciliate viis. Noscat & æternam mutua dextra fidem. Una cibos ferat, una suas vocet arbor in umbras. Certum erit interea quanto sit major habenda, LUKE 2. Quærit Jesum suum Maria, &c. AND Nd is he gone, whom these armes held but n Did ever greife, & joy in one poore heart Hee's gone. My wombes Hee's gone. My joyes, & Hee's gone. Soe soone change part? & his lov'd steppes to wait upon, not leaving with me, till he come, Oh come then. Make hast, & bring Thy mother her lost joy: Oh come, sweet boy. come, or e're my greife, & I Peace, heart! the heavens are angry. all their s I was mistaken. Rival thy teares. some faire sphære, or other Was thy blest mother. What, but the fairest heaven, could owne the bir Of soe faire earth? Yet sure thou did'st lodge heere. this wombe of Was once call'd thine. Oft have these armes thy cradle envied, Beguil'd thy bed. Oft to thy easy eares hath this shrill tongue Trembled, & sung. Oft have I wrapt thy slumbers in soft aires, Oft hath this hand those silken casements kept, Oft have my hungry kisses made thine eyes Too early rise. Oft have I spoild my kisses daintiest diet, Oft from this breast to thine my love-tost heart Oft my lost soule have I bin glad to seeke Oft have these armes alas! show'd to these eyes Dawne then to me, thou morne of mine owne day, And lett heaven stay. Oh, would'st thou heere still fixe thy faire abode, What hinders, but my bosome still might be Whosoever shall loose his life &c. MATH. 16. 25. Oe I may gaine thy death, my life I'le give. S (My life's by death, & in thy death I live.) |