ὀργῇ τ' ἐχώρουν πρὸς βίαν πειθαρχίας, ὥσπερ ξὺν ἀνθρώποισιν ἅψοντες μάχην. ΓΕΡ. Λέγουσι δ ̓ ὡς φάγοιεν ἀλλήλους, ῬΟΣΣ.

Εγώ

φάγοντας εἶδον, καὶ κατέπτησσον φόβῳ.

THE SAME TRANSLATED.

Mecum scande volans cærula nubium;

Magnâ voce canens, usque canens vola!

Duc me, suavis alauda,

Cœlum carmine personans,

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

Ægrum cor mihi languet :
At si quis mihi cœlitum

Pennas indueret, me tibi jungerem.

Nam dulcis furor est cantibus in tuis!

Duc me, duc ubi cœlum

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 cœtusque tuos, par tibi gaudium

Sumam, tollam animum liber in æthera;

Vitæ spe melioris,

Hujus tædia perferam.

FROM RICHARD III.

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,
Kneel'd 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.

Αρ ̓ οὖν καταγνοὺς τοῦ κασιγνητοῦ θανεῖν, ἔπειτα δούλοις ἀνδράσιν ξυγγνώσομαι ; ἀδελφὸς οὐμὸς οὐδέν ̓ ἔκτεινεν βροτών, βουλῶν δ ̓ ἄποινα, θάνατον ἤντλησεν πικρόν· καὶ μὴν ἐκείνου τίς μ' ἐδεῖθ ̓ ὕπερ; τίς ἦν ὁ νουθετήσας γονυπετὴς θυμούμενον, φύσιν ξύναιμον καὶ φιλόφρονας τρόπους φράζων; τίς εἶπεν, ὡς ὁ δυσδαίμων ἀνὴρ, μέγαν στρατηγὸν πενθερόν θ ̓ αὑτοῦ λιπὼν, ἐμοὶ ξυνέμαχησ'; οἷά μ' ̓Αρέος ἐν κλόνῳ κεῖνος πεσόντ ἐῤῥύσατ ̓, ἔκ τ' ηὔδησ ̓ ἔπος, ζῆ καὶ τυράννευ ̓, ὦ κασιγνητὸν κάρα ; τίς εἶφ ̓, ὑπαιθρίοισιν ὡς ἐκείμεθον πάγοισιν ἡμιθνῆθ ̓, ὁ δ ̓ ἀμπισχὼν ἐμὲ τοῖς οἶσι πέπλοις, εἶτα γυμνωθὲν δέμας αὑτὸν παρέσχε νυκτὸς ἀτηρῷ κρύει; ᾔδειν τάδ'· ὀργῇ δ' ἠγριωμένος τότε κακῶς διώλεσ'· οὐδ ̓ ἄρ ̓ εἰς ὑμῶν ἐμοῦ οὕτως ἐκήδεθ ̓, ὥστ ̓ ἀναμνῆσαι πάλιν ἀλλ ̓ οἰκετῶν γ ̓ ἐπεί τις ἢ διακόνων