———“Prepare thee for another scene.”]
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[ —
Which Copland scarce had spoke, but quickly every hill,
Upon her verge that stands, the neighbouring vallies fill;
Helvillon from his height, it through the mountains threw,
From whom as soon again, the sound Dunbalrase drew,
From whose stone-trophied head, it on the Windross went,
Which tow’rds the sea again, resounded it to Dent.
That Brodwater, therewith within her banks astound,
In sailing to the sea, told it to Egremound,
Whose buildings, walks, and streets, with echoes loud and long,
Did mightily commend old Copland for her song.
Drayton’s POLYOLBION: Song XXX.]
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[ Translation. It behoves me to side with my friends, but only as far as the gods.]
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[ “Slender. I bruised my shin with playing with sword and dagger for a dish of stewed prunes, and by my troth I cannot abide the smell of hot meat since.”—So again, Evans. “I will make an end of my dinner: there’s pippins and cheese to come.”]
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[ This was accidentally confirmed to me by an old German gentleman at Helmstadt, who had been Klopstock’s school and bed-fellow. Among other boyish anecdotes, he related that the young poet set a particular value on a translation of the PARADISE LOST, and always slept with it under his pillow.]