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You may also have a great fire in your room, burn juniper in the four corners, surround yourself with imperial vinegar, with rue and wormwood.
Like Ovid, too, he could and did pronounce his invective against the Ibis, the cause of all his troubles, that is to say, Rashid Pasha, whose very name was as gall and wormwood. His fate, indeed, was a hard one.
'From Reuben and Simeon down to Gad and Asher, his life shall be required at their hands. Oh, it was a red-hot-cannon-ball-firing sermon, and Solomon Barzinsky could not resist leaning across and whispering to the Parnass: 'Wasn't I right in refusing to vote for Rochinsky? This reminder of his candidate's defeat was wormwood to the Parnass, spoiling all his satisfaction in the sermon.
His speech was Persian, but the newcomers both understood when he named them. The tall Laconian straightened his bull neck, as in defiance. The Athenian flushed. His head seemed sinking betwixt his shoulders. Much wormwood had he drunk of late, but none bitterer than this,—to be welcomed at the councils of the Barbarian. Artabazus salaamed to his superior half mockingly.
There was balm in abundance, and two or three gigantic peonies, in their season the admiration of all passers by; and beds of useful herbs, wormwood and sage, and summer savory.
STAFFORDSHIRE SYLLABUB. Put into a bowl a pint of cider, and a glass of brandy, with sugar and nutmeg. Pour into it some warm milk, from a large tea-pot, held up high, and moved over it. STAINS BY ACIDS. Wet the injured part, and lay on some salt of wormwood; then rub it, without diluting it with more water.
My life is bitter as wormwood; the very life is burning out of me. I'm a poor, miserable, forlorn drudge; I shall only drag you down with me, that's all. What's the use of our trying to do anything, trying to know anything, trying to be anything? What's the use of living? I wish I was dead!" "O, now, dear George, that is really wicked!
And as for the lad," says he, "let him not trouble you. Such as he, if twisted a little in the growth, come out straight enough in the end." I think the Governor little knew what wormwood was this to my uncle.
All this was before the Polish charmer distilled his sugared wormwood, his sweet, exasperated poison, for thirsty souls inmorbid Paris.
In a way I was sorry for him; a poor half-witted wretch, whose life had been full of such gall and wormwood. What a different fate was his to mine, I thought. I had endured but one short night of agony; how trifling it seemed compared to HIS hourly remorse and suffering!
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