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The bees pillage the flowers here and there but they make honey
of them which is all their own; read more
The bees pillage the flowers here and there but they make honey
of them which is all their own; it is no longer thyme or
marjolaine: so the pieces borrowed from others he will transform
and mix up into a work all his own.
[Fr., Les abeilles pillotent deca dela les fleurs; mais elles en
font aprez le miel, qui est tout leur; ce n'est plus thym, ny
marjolaine: ainsi les pieces empruntees d'aultruy, il les
transformera et confondra pour en faire un ouvrage tout sien.]
I recover my property wherever I find it.
[Fr., Je reprends mon bien ou je le trouve.]
I recover my property wherever I find it.
[Fr., Je reprends mon bien ou je le trouve.]
Next o'er his books his eyes began to roll,
In pleasing memory of all he stole;
How read more
Next o'er his books his eyes began to roll,
In pleasing memory of all he stole;
How here he sipp'd, how there he plunder'd snug,
And suck'd all o'er like an industrious bug.
Copy from one, it's plagiarism; copy from two, it's research.
Copy from one, it's plagiarism; copy from two, it's research.
Amongst so many borrowed things, am glad if I can steal one,
disguising and altering it for some new read more
Amongst so many borrowed things, am glad if I can steal one,
disguising and altering it for some new service.
We can say nothing but what hath been said . . . Our poets steal
from Homer . . read more
We can say nothing but what hath been said . . . Our poets steal
from Homer . . . . Our storydressers do as much; he that comes
last is commonly best.
They had their lean books with the fat of others' works.
They had their lean books with the fat of others' works.
He liked those literary cooks
Who skim the cream of others' books;
And ruin half an author's read more
He liked those literary cooks
Who skim the cream of others' books;
And ruin half an author's graces
By plucking bon-mots from their places.
When 'Omer smote 'is bloomin' lyre,
He'd 'eard men sing by land an' sea;
An' what he read more
When 'Omer smote 'is bloomin' lyre,
He'd 'eard men sing by land an' sea;
An' what he thought 'e might require,
'E went an' took--the same as me.
