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How dulce to vive occult to mortal eyes, Dorm on the herb with none to supervise, Carp the suave berries from the crescent vine, And bibe the flow from longicaudate kine! To me, alas! no verdurous visions come, Save yon exigous pool's conferva-scum, No concave vast repeats the tender hue That laves my milk-jug with celestial blue! Me wretched! Let me curr to quercine shades!
But the Hakim paid no heed to his fierce glances, and held the glass to his patient. "Bibe," he said, in a tone of command, using medical Latin in preference to English.
One of these curious paintings represents Faustus in company with students and musicians sitting around a table covered with dishes and bottles. Faustus is lifting his goblet with one hand, and with the other beating time on the table to the music. At the bottom we read the following verse in barbarous Latin: "Vive. Bibe. Obgregare. Memor Fausti hujus, et hujus Poenae. Aderat claudo haec.
"I guess I'm as American as they make 'em." "I am from Bavaria," Lauer told him. "Vill you shmoke? I light mine bibe mit your vife's permission." "Yes," he continued, stuffing the bowl of his pipe with a stubby forefinger, "I am from Bavaria. Dere I vass upon a farm brought oop. I serf in der army my dime. Den Ameriga. Dere I marry my vife, who is born in Milvaukee. I vork in der big brreweries.
He was a fair, bearded youth with blue eyes, riding a restless colt that embroiled itself and plunged amongst the mules' legs. The young man leaned forward in the saddle and craned to avoid a clothes chest. The magister called to him: 'Ho, Longstaffe! and having caught his pleased eyes: 'Ecce quis sto in arce plenitatis. Veni atque bibe! Magister sum. Udal sum. Longstaffe ave.
'Na, of course not; you don't know nothin', do yer? 'Innocent as a bibe. Our Father which art in 'eaven! ''Aven't been in London long, 'ave yer? They spoke in chorus, and Liza stood in front of them, bewildered, not knowing what to answer. 'Don't you mike no mistake abaht it, Liza knows a thing or two.
How dulce to vive occult to mortal eyes, Dorm on the herb with none to supervise, Carp the suave berries from the crescent vine, And bibe the flow from longicaudate kine! To me, alas! no verdurous visions come, Save yon exiguous pool's conferva-scum, No concave vast repeats the tender hue That laves my milk-jug with celestial blue! Me wretched!
How dulce to vive occult to mortal eyes, Dorm on the herb with none to supervise, Carp the suave berries from the crescent vine, And bibe the flow from longicaudate kine! To me, alas! no verdurous visions come, Save yon exiguous pool's conferva-scum, No concave vast repeats the tender hue That laves my milk-jug with celestial blue! Me wretched!
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