Habet aliquid ex iniquo onrne magnum exemplum, quod contra singulos, utilitate publica rependitus.
Every great example of punishment has in it some injustice, but the suffering individual is compensated by the public good.
The woman, Spaniel, the walnut tree,
The more you beat them the better they be.
Verbera sed audi.
Strike, but hear.
Ah, miser! et si quis primo perjuria celat,
Sera tamen tacitis Poena venit pedibus.
Ah, wretch! even though one may be able at first to conceal his perjuries, yet punishment creeps on, though late, with noiseless step.
They spare the rod, and spoyle the child.
What heavy guilt upon him lies!
How cursed is his name!
The ravens shall pick out his eyes,
And eagles eat the same.
Du spottest noch? Erzittre! Immer schlafen
Des Rächers Blitze nicht.
Thou mockest? Tremble! the avenger's lightning bolts do not forever dormant lie.
Hanging was the worst use a man could be put to.
Jupiter is late in looking into his note-book.
PURITY
(See also Chastity)
Quell' onda, che ruina
Dalla pendice alpina,
Balza, si frange, e mormora
Ma limpida si fa.
That water which falls from some Alpine height is dashed, broken, and will murmur loudly, but grows limpid by its fall.
Qual diverrà quel fiume,
Nel lungo suo cammino,
Se al fonte ancor vicino
È torbido così?
What will the stream become in its lengthened course, if it be so turbid at its source?
Les choses valent toujours mieux dans leur source.
The stream is always purer at its source.
Whiter than new snow on a raven's back.
Unto the pure all things are pure.
Q
QUACKERY
(See also Medicine)
Void of all honor, avaricious, rash,
The daring tribe compound their boasted trash—
Tincture of syrup, lotion, drop, or pill;
All tempt the sick to trust the lying bill.
From powerful causes spring the empiric's gains,
Man's love of life, his weakness, and his pains;
These first induce him the vile trash to try,
Then lend his name, that other men may buy.
Out, you impostors!
Quack salving, cheating mountebanks! your skill
Is to make sound men sick, and sick men kill.
I bought an unction of a mountebank,
So mortal that, but dip a knife in it,
Where it draws blood no cataplasm so rare,
Collected from all simples that have virtue
Under the moon, can save the thing from death
That is but scratch 'd withal.
QUAIL
In jalousie I rede eek thou hym bynde
And thou shalt make him couche as doeth a quaille.
The song-birds leave us at the summer's close,
Only the empty nests are left behind.
And pipings of the quail among the sheaves.
An honest fellow enough, and one that loves quails.
