The celery, thrown in pot, met in there the rump of the ox. From them a broth came out: it had juices and pepsins from the rump, and from the celery the taste and scent.
This small tale admonishes about, oh iron-hitting men, not to scoff at writers.
The garden warbler saw that still life by the excellent painter Tomèa: and regarding that fig true indeed, forthwith of his beak a swift peck he gave. So that resulted in the canvas a hole, or narrow opening.
This figgy tale demonstrates: Show full text