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It's a wretched business To be digging a well Just as thirst is overcoming you. [Lat., Miserum est opus, Igitur demum fodere puteum, Ubi sitis fauces tenet.] - Plautus (Titus Maccius Plautus) It is wretched business to be digging a well just as thirst is mastering you. [Lat., Miserum est opus, Igitur demum fodere puteum, ubi sitis fauces tedet.] - Plautus (Titus Maccius Plautus), Mostellaria (II, 1, 32) A Rechabite poor Will must live, And drink of Adam's ale. - Matthew Prior, The Wandering Pilgrim Honest water, which ne'er left man in the mire. - William Shakespeare More water glideth by the mill Than wots the miller of. - William Shakespeare Here's that which is too weak to be a sinner: Honest water, which ne'er left man i' th' mire. - William Shakespeare, The Life of Timon of Athens (Apemantus at I, ii) O Lord! methought what pain it was to drown! What dreadful noise of waters in mine ears! What sights of ugly death within mine eyes! Methoughts I saw a thousand fearful wracks; A thousand men that fishes gnawed upon; Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels, All scatt'red in the bottom of the sea: Some lay in dead men's skulls, and in the holes Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept (As 'twere in scorn of eyes) reflecting gems, That wooed the slimy bottom of the deep And mocked the dead bones that lay scatt'red by. - William Shakespeare, The Tragedy of King Richard the Third (Clarence at I, iv) What, man! more water glideth by the mill That wots the miller of; and easy it is Of a cut loaf to steal a shive, we know: Though Bassianus be the emperor's brother, Better then he have worn Vulcan's badge. - William Shakespeare, Titus Andronicus (Demetrius at II, i) The people are like water and the ruler a boat. Water can support a boat or overturn it. - Li Shimim How beautiful the water is! To me 'tis wondrous fair-- No spot can ever lonely be If water sparkle there; It hath a thousand tongues of mirth, Of grandeur, or delight, And every heart is gladder made When water greets the sight. - Elizabeth Oakes Smith (nee Prince) 'Tis rushing now adown the spout, And gushing out below, Half frantic in its joyousness, And wild in eager flow. The earth is dried and parched with heat, And it hath long'd to be Released from out the selfish cloud, To cool the thirsty tree. - Elizabeth Oakes Smith (nee Prince), Water And so never ending, But always descending. - Robert Southey, The Cataract of Lodore "How does the Water Come down at Lodore?" - Robert Southey, The Cataract of Lodore 'Tis a little thing To give a cup of water; yet its draught Of cool refreshment, drain'd by fever'd lips, May give a shock of pleasure to the frame More exquisite than when nectarean juice Renews the life of joy in happiest hours. - Sir Thomas Noon Talfourd (Talford), Ion (act I, sc. 2), (Sonnet III) Smooth to the shelving brink, a copious flood Rolls fair and placid, where collected all In one impetuous torrent, down the steep It thund'ring shoots, and shakes the country round. At first an azure sheet it rushes broad, Then whitening by degrees, as prone it falls, And from the loud resounding rocks below, Dash'd in a cloud of foam, it sends aloft A hoary mist, and forms a ceaseless shower. Nor even the torrid wave here finds repose, But raging still amid the shaggy rocks, Now flashes o'er the scatter'd fragments now Aslant the hollow'd channel rapid darts, And falling fast from gradual slope to slope, With wild infracted course and lessened roar It gains a safer bed, and steals at last Along the mazes of the quiet vale. - James Thomson (1) Water is the only drink for a wise man. - Henry David Thoreau How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood, When fond recollection presents them to view. . . . . The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket, which hung in the well. - Samuel Woodworth, The Old Oaken Bucket How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it, As, poised on the curb, it inclined to my lips! Not a full blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it, The brightest that beauty or revelry sips. - Samuel Woodworth, The Old Oaken Bucket Displaying page 2 of 2 for this topic: << Prev 1 [2]
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