This one case may serve To give sufficient taste of many such, So, let them pass. Those shelves support a pile Of patents, licenses, diplomas, titles From Germany, France, Spain, and Italy; They authorize some honor; ne'ertheless, I set more store by this Erasmus sent; He trusts me; our Frobenius is his friend, And him "I raised" (nay, read it) "from the dead." I weary you, I see. I merely sought To show, there's no great wonder after all That, while I fill the class-room and attract A crowd to Basel, I get leave to stay, And therefore need not scruple to accept The utmost they can offer, if I please: For 't is but right the world should be prepared To treat with favor e'en fantastic wants Of one like me, used up in serving her. Just as the mortal, whom the gods in part Devoured, received in place of his lost limb Some virtue or other--cured disease, I think; You mind the fables we have read together. _Fest._ You do not think I comprehend a word. The time was, Aureole, you were apt enough To clothe the airiest thoughts in specious breath; But surely you must feel how vague and strange These speeches sound. _Par._ Well, then: you know my hopes; I am assured, at length, those hopes were vain; That truth is just as far from me as ever; That I have thrown my life away; that sorrow On that account is idle, and further effort To mend and patch what's marred beyond repairing, As useless: and all this was taught your friend By the convincing good old-fashioned method Of force--by sheer compulsion. Is that plain? _Fest._ Dear Aureole, can it be my fears were just? God wills not ...