Imatges de pàgina
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And falling with her wedded heart

On what had murdered his,

Gathered him blindly in her arms,

And smiled a dying kiss.

Arcuit ire meas, telo quod inhæserat illi
Incubuit; moriensque suum complexa maritum est.

EPITAPH ON EROTION.

FROM MARTIAL.

UNDERNEATH this greedy stone
Lies little sweet Erotion;

Whom the Fates, with hearts as cold,

Nipp'd away at six

years

old.

Thou, whoever thou may'st be,
That hast this small field after me,

Let the yearly rites be paid
To her little slender shade;

Hic festinata requiescit Erotion umbra,

Crimine quam fati sexta peremit hiems. Quisquis eris nostri post me regnator agelli,

Manibus exiguis annua justa dato.

So shall no disease or jar

Hurt thy house, or chill thy Lar ;

But this tomb here be alone,

The only melancholy stone.

Sic Lare perpetuo, sic turba sospite, solus

Flebilis in terra sit lapis iste tua.

THE

JOVIAL PRIEST'S CONFESSION.

There is already an imitation by Mr. Huddesford of the following reverend piece of wit : and one of the passages in it beats any thing in the present version. It is the beginning of the last stanza,

Mysterious and prophetic truths

I never could unfold 'em,
Without a flagon of good wine,

And a slice of cold ham.

The translation here offered to the reader is intended to be a more literal picture of the original, and to retain more of its intermixture of a grave and churchman-like style. The original itself is subjoined, as a thing too good not to be repeated, and not common enough to be easily found. It is preserved in the Remains of the learned Camden, who says, in his pleasant way, that “Walter de Mapes, Archdeacon of Oxford, who, in the time of King Henry the Second, filled England with his merriments, confessed his love to good liquor in this manner;"

I DEVISE to end my days—in a tavern drinking,
May some Christian hold for me—the glass when I

am shrinking;

Mihi est propositum in tabernâ mori,

Vinum sit appositum morientis ori:

That the Cherubim may cry—when they see me sinking, God be merciful to a soul—of this gentleman's way of

thinking

A glass of wine amazingly—enlighteneth one's inter

nals;

'Tis wings bedewed with nectar-that fly up to su

pernals;

Bottles cracked in taverns—have much the sweeter

kernels,

Than the sups allowed to us—in the college journals.

Ut dicant, cum venerint, Angelorum chori,
Deus sit propitius huic potatori.

Poculis accenditur animi lucerna ;

Cor imbutum nectare volat ad superna ;

Mihi sapit dulcius vinum in taberna,
Quam quod aqua miscuit præsulis pincerna.

R

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