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This the finest air drinking, With nostrils out-swelled like goblets, Lacking future, lacking remembrances Thus do I sit here, ye Friendly damsels dearly loved, And look at the palm-tree there, How it, to a dance-girl, like, Doth bow and bend and on its haunches bob, One doth it too, when one view'th it long!
"If he of patience fail the truth to hide * For him no cure save Death my vision view'th!" I committed them to memory and returned home, and when I went in to my cousin I found her fallen into a fit and my mother sitting at her head.
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