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Updated: June 1, 2025


You are giving yourself useless trouble, Jason, and I earnestly beg you not to disturb me any longer now, for a dark spot is already appearing on the roast. Quick, Chloris lift the spit from the fire!" "I should like to bid Lysander good-morning." "He is tired, and wants to see no one. The servants have vexed him." "Then I'll stay awhile in the garden." "To try your luck with Xanthe?

These were the neighbors and the ordinary associates of Chloris and Jurgen; though once in a while, of course, there would be family gatherings in the forest. But Jurgen presently had found good reason to distrust the People of the Wood, and went to none of these gatherings.

And the man was moved as she smiled at him across the glowing queer embroidery-work at which Chloris seemed to labor interminably: he was conscious of a tenderness for her which was oddly remorseful: and it appeared to him that if he had known lovelier women he had certainly found nowhere anyone more lovable than was this plump and busy and sunny-tempered little wife of his.

There she goes after Chloris, to save the second cheese." Xanthe smiled assent. Her father raised his voice and called to the juggler: "Well, my little friend, show what your actors can do. You young people, Mopsus and Dorippe, for aught I care, can dance as long as the monaulus sounds, and Semestre stays in the house."

At these words, Mopsus, keeping time to the music, advanced toward his sweetheart, but Semestre stepped before him, exclaiming half to the lad and half to her master: "There must be no jumping about now. Whoever dances in the morning will break a leg at night." Lysander nodded assent. "Then go into the house, Chloris, and fetch this king of hens a jug of wine, some bread, and two cheeses."

On February 28, 1592, Lord Strange's men performed a piece at the Rose, the title of which is given by Henslowe as 'clorys & orgasto, presumably Chloris and Ergasto. It was an old play, probably dating from some years earlier.

"How many cheeses?" asked the housekeeper." "Two," replied Lysander. "One will be more than enough," cried Semestre "Bring only one, Chloris." The invalid smilingly shrugged his shoulders, clasped Xanthe's hand as she stood beside him, and said in so low a tone that the old woman could not hear: "Haven't I grown like little thick-skull's hens? Semestre commands and I must obey.

"I didn't ask about the cakes," replied Dorippe, exchanging a mischievous glance with Chloris; "I only wanted to know " "You girls are deaf; I've noticed it a long time," interrupted the house-keeper. "You've grown hard of hearing, and I know why. Hundreds of times I've forbidden you to throw yourselves on the dewy grass in the evening, when you were heated by dancing.

"Yet do you not think, Chloris, that in the absence of Jugatinus and in, as I understand it, the unavoidable absence of Jugatinus, somebody else might perform the ceremony?" "Oh, yes, if they wanted to. But it would not count. Nobody but Jugatinus can really marry people. And so of course nobody else does." "What makes you sure of that?"

The Thoughts of the ancient Poets on this agreeable Phrenzy, are translated in honour of some modern Beauty; and Chloris is won to Day, by the same Compliment that was made to Lesbia a thousand Years ago. But as far as I can learn, the Patron of the Club is the renowned Don Quixote.

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