Thou speakest well, methought, for as thy guide
That Christ is not here.
Yet, for a dog, too wild,So shaggy, clumsy, rough!"Upon his back she gently strokes her foot;
Then replied in tones of compassion the sensitive landlordHermann I trust will find them and give them refreshment and clothing.I should unwillingly see them: I grieve at the eight of such sorrow.Touch'd by the earliest news of the sad extent of the suffering,Hastily sent we a trifle from out of our superabundance,Just to comfort a few, and then our minds were more easy.Now let us cease to discourse on such a sorrowful subject,For men's hearts are easily overshadow'd by terror,And by care, more odious far to me than misfortune.Now let us go to a cooler place, the little back-parlour;There the sun never shines, and the walls are so thick that the hot airNever can enter; and mother shall forthwith bring us a glass eachFull of fine Eighty-three, well fitted to drive away trouble.This is a bad place for drinking; the flies will hum round the glasses."So they all went inside, enjoying themselves in the coolness.Then in a well-cut flask the mother carefully brought themSome of that clear good wine, upon a bright metal waiterWith those greenish rummers, the fittingest goblets for Rhine wine.So the three sat together, around the glistening polish'dCircular large brown table-膐n massive feet it was planted.Merrily clink'd together the glasses of host and of pastor,But the other one thoughtfully held his glass without moving,And in friendly fashion the host thus ask'd him to join them:--
Was it possible that yeThus your godlike dignityShould forget? The Thyrsus rude