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Updated: May 10, 2025
"He covered it up, laughed, and dropped dead." "Gracious!" said Mr. Boniface Newt. "Or like Boccaccio's basil-pot," continued Abel, calmly; pouring forth smoke, while his befogged papa inquired, "What on earth do you mean by Boccaccio's basil-pot?"
Yea, God Most High might ease me, at His will, If but it liked Him well, Of him who wrought me such unright and ill; He into pangs of hell Cast me who stole my basil-pot, that still Was full of such sweet smell, Its savour did all dole from me away.
Her brothers discovered why she sat so constant by her pot of Basil and fled from the city. Isabella pined and died with these pitiful words upon her lips: "O cruelty, to steal my Basil-pot away from me."
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