Book,  Verse

 1      I,   384|                 And Pontus' weary monarch gave him fame,~ ~
 2      I,   391|             Where shall the weary soldier find his rest?~ ~
 3    III,    24|          Dropped from their weary hands. With me thy wife,~ ~
 4     IV,   429| Suffice for nature. Ah! the weary lot~ ~
 5      V,   253|                         Her weary heart throbs ever; and as
 6      V,   286|                          Or weary of the mournful bugle call~ ~
 7      V,   582|                Restored the weary; and the camp was still.~ ~
 8      V,   799|                         Why weary heaven? is it indeed enough~ ~
 9     VI,   102|               For there the weary earth of produce failed~ ~
10     VI,   826| Pluto, king of earth, whose weary soul~ ~
11    VII,   985|                        From weary talons dropped. Yet even
12   VIII,    63|                         His weary features, by the hoary locks~ ~
13     IX,   265|                             Weary of warfare, since Pompeius'
14     IX,   470|          470 Plodding their weary march: such be the lot~ ~