Then, mov’d with anger and disdain, to see Their troops dispers’d, the royal virgin free, The Grecians rally, and their pow’rs unite, With fury charge us, and renew the fight.
These clamors with disdain the Scylla heard, Much grudg’d the praise, but more the robb’d reward: Resolv’d to hold their own, they mend their pace, All obstinate to die, or gain the race.
Besides, long causes working in her mind, And secret seeds of envy, lay behind; Deep graven in her heart the doom remain’d Of partial Paris, and her form disdain’d; The grace bestow’d on ravish’d Ganymed, Electra’s glories, and her injur’d bed.
Their king, half-threat’ning, half-disdaining stood, While Cocles broke the bridge, and stemm’d the flood.
The Latian king, unless he shall submit, Own his old promise, and his new forgetLet him, in arms, the pow’r of Turnus prove, And learn to fear whom he disdains to love.
Disdain and conscious virtue fir’d his breast, And with redoubled force his foe he press’d.
Restless Amata lay, her swelling breast Fir’d with disdain for Turnus dispossess’d, And the new nuptials of the Trojan guest.
Mezentius first appear’d upon the plain: Scorn sate upon his brows, and sour disdain, Defying earth and heav’n.
Sharp with desire, and furious with disdain; Surveys each passage with a piercing sight, To force his foes in equal field to fight.
Then Jove, who saw from high, with just disdain, The dead inspir’d with vital breath again, Struck to the center, with his flaming dart, Th’ unhappy founder of the godlike art.
The crimson stream distain’d his arms around, And the disdainful soul came rushing thro’ the wound.
The streaming blood distain’d his arms around, And the disdainful soul came rushing thro’ the wound.
Now Turnus doubts, and yet disdains to yield, But with slow paces measures back the field, And inches to the walls, where Tiber’s tide, Washing the camp, defends the weaker side.
He, like a solid rock by seas inclos’d, To raging winds and roaring waves oppos’d, From his proud summit looking down, disdains Their empty menace, and unmov’d remains.
He fires the breast of Tarchon with disdain, And sends him to redeem th’ abandon’d plain.
This haughty Phegeus saw with high disdain, And, as the chariot roll’d along the plain, Light from the ground he leapt, and seiz’d the rein.
The Tuscan matrons with each other vied, To bless their rival sons with such a bride; But she disdains their love, to share with me The sylvan shades and vow’d virginity.
With fury not unlike, nor less disdain, Exulting Turnus flies along the plain: His smoking horses, at their utmost speed, He lashes on, and urges o’er the dead.
The prince disdains the dastards to pursue, Nor moves to meet in arms the fighting few; Turnus alone, amid the dusky plain, He seeks, and to the combat calls in vain.
Once more the proud Mezentius, with disdain, Brandish’d his spear, and rush’d into the plain, Where tow’ring in the midmost rank she stood, Like tall Orion stalking o’er the flood.
Aeneas, hast’ning, wav’d his fatal sword High o’er his head, with this reproachful word: "Now; where are now thy vaunts, the fierce disdain Of proud Mezentius, and the lofty strain?"
The Queen of Love, who, with disdain and grief, Saw the bold nymph afford this prompt relief, T’ assert her offspring with a greater deed, From the tough root the ling’ring weapon freed.
She drops her sword; she nods her plumy crest, Her drooping head declining on her breast: In the last sigh her struggling soul expires, And, murm’ring with disdain, to Stygian sounds retires.
She glows with anger and disdain, Dismounts with speed to dare him on the plain, And leaves her horse at large among her train; With her drawn sword defies him to the field, And, marching, lifts aloft her maiden shield.
Nor Oebalus, shalt thou be left unsung, From nymph Semethis and old Telon sprung, Who then in Teleboan Capri reign’d; But that short isle th’ ambitious youth disdain’d, And o’er Campania stretch’d his ample sway, Where swelling Sarnus seeks the Tyrrhene sea; O’er Batulum, and where Abella sees, From her high tow’rs, the harvest of her trees.
Disdainfully she look’d; then turning round, But fix’d her eyes unmov’d upon the ground, And what he says and swears, regards no more Than the deaf rocks, when the loud billows roar; But whirl’d away, to shun his hateful sight, Hid in the forest and the shades of night; Then sought Sichaeus thro’ the shady grove, Who answer’d all her cares, and equal’d all her love.
Besides, old prophecies augment her fears; And stern Aeneas in her dreams appears, Disdainful as by day: she seems, alone, To wander in her sleep, thro’ ways unknown, Guideless and dark; or, in a desart plain, To seek her subjects, and to seek in vain: Like Pentheus, when, distracted with his fear, He saw two suns, and double Thebes, appear; Or mad Orestes, when his mother’s ghost Full in his face infernal torches toss’d, And shook her snaky locks: he shuns the sight, Flies o’er the…
Then with disdain the haughty victor view’d Orodes flying, nor the wretch pursued, Nor thought the dastard’s back deserv’d a wound, But, running, gain’d th’ advantage of the ground: Then turning short, he met him face to face, To give his victor the better grace.
Her Juno finds, and thus inflames her spite: "O virgin daughter of eternal Night, Give me this once thy labor, to sustain My right, and execute my just disdain.
The wrathful youth, disdaining the relief, With intermitting sobs thus vents his grief: "The care, O best of fathers, which you take For my concerns, at my desire forsake.
Acestes, fir’d with just disdain, to see The palm usurp’d without a victory, Reproach’d Entellus thus, who sate beside, And heard and saw, unmov’d, the Trojan’s pride: "Once, but in vain, a champion of renown, So tamely can you bear the ravish’d crown, A prize in triumph borne before your sight, And shun, for fear, the danger of the fight?
Pallas, who with disdain and grief had view’d His foes pursuing, and his friends pursued, Us’d threat’nings mix’d with pray’rs, his last resource, With these to move their minds, with those to fire their force "Which way, companions? whether would you run?
He, when he heard a fugitive could move The Tyrian princess, who disdain’d his love, His breast with fury burn’d, his eyes with fire, Mad with despair, impatient with desire; Then on the sacred altars pouring wine, He thus with pray’rs implor’d his sire divine: "Great Jove! propitious to the Moorish race, Who feast on painted beds, with off’rings grace Thy temples, and adore thy pow’r divine With blood of victims, and with sparkling wine, Seest thou not this? or do we fear in vain Thy…
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She tries to be polite, but cannot hide her disdain for authority.
She has nothing but disdain for the notion that common people can regulate their own lives better than she can.