The Comedies of Aristophanes

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Baily, 1837 - 420

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Strona lxxii - Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried. We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning ; By the struggling moonbeam's misty light And the lantern dimly burning.
Strona xxi - For the lips of a strange woman drop as an honeycomb, and her mouth is smoother than oil: but her end is bitter as wormwood, sharp as a two-edged sword. Her feet go down to death; her steps take hold on hell.
Strona xxi - That they may keep thee from the strange woman, from the stranger which flattereth with her words.
Strona lviii - Her love was sought, I do aver, By twenty beaux and more; The king himself has followed her, — When she has walked before. "But now her wealth and finery fled, Her hangers-on cut short all; The doctors found, when she was dead, — Her last disorder mortal. "Let us lament, in sorrow sore, For Kent Street well may say, That had she lived a twelvemonth more, — She had not died today.
Strona lviii - GOOD people all, with one accord, Lament for Madam Blaize, Who never wanted a good word— From those who spoke her praise. The needy seldom pass'd her door, And always found her kind; She freely lent to all the poor— Who left a pledge behind.
Strona 13 - Now on whom dost thou trust, that thou rebellest against me ? Now, behold, thou trustest upon the staff of this bruised reed, even upon Egypt, on which if a man lean, it will go into his hand, and pierce it: so is Pharaoh king of Egypt unto all that trust on him.
Strona lxx - Ye high, exalted, virtuous dames, Tied up in godly laces, Before ye gi'e poor Frailty names, Suppose a change o' cases ; A dear-loved lad, convenience snug, A treacherous inclination — But, let me whisper i' your lug, Ye're aiblins nae temptation.
Strona lxv - Paulo Purgauti and his Wife." JOHNSON : " Sir, there is nothing there, but that his wife wanted to be kissed, when poor Paulo was out of pocket. No, Sir, Prior is a lady's book. No lady is ashamed to have it standing in her library.
Strona 286 - ... fellow, says, it looks for all the world like a flock of sheep, and foretells plenty : and all the while it is nothing but a shining cloud, by its own mobility, and the activity of a wind cast into a contingent and inartificial shape.
Strona xxxvi - Is hurried wild, let not such horrid joy E'er stain the bosom of the British fair. Far be the spirit of the...

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