After speaking of the mode in which he arranged his work, it is a natural transition to the substance with which Boiardo built. This shews strong internal evidence3 of having been taken, in the main, from the old French romances of Charlemagne, or rather from Italian works, raised upon their foundation. Hoole mentions one of these, called Aspramonte, &c., of uncertain date, and we have the titles of two others, which were anterior3 to the Innamorato, one called Li fat ft di Carlo Magno c del Paladini di Francia, printed in 1481; the other printed in 1491, and entitled La Historia real di Francici) die tratta deifatti dei Paladini e di Carlo Magno in sei libri. Some indeed would seem to deny that Boiardo had dug in these mines, and would wish us to believe, that he not only compounded but manufactured the materials with which he wrought4. Such at least would appear to have been the drift of one, who observes that Agramant, Sacripant and Gradassso were names of certain of the vassals6 of Scandiano. But if he means to insinuate7 by this, that Boiardo was not also indebted to the other source for his fictions and characters, as well might a critic of to-day, contend that the author of the Monks and Giants., who writes under the name of Whistlecraft, had not borrowed the idea of their cause of quarrel from Pulci, because he has given ridiculous modern names to some of his giants; or that he had not taken the leaders amongst his dramatis persona from the romances of the Round Table, because he has conferred “ two leopards’ faces,” that is, his own arms, on the single knight10, who perishes in Sir Tristram’s successful expedition.
3 A single circumstance, which I cite, because it can be appreciated by every body, would convince me that such stories as are to be found in the Innamorato, were not the growth of Boiardo’s century. No author of that age could have imagined the friendly ties of alliance and consanguinity11 between Christians12 and paynims, though such fictions are justified14 by facts: thus we learn from Gibbon that like relations existed between Greeks and Turks, and (as we are informed by Mr. Lockhart, in the preface to his Spanish Ballads15, a work which presents as striking pictures of manners as of passion) between Spaniards and Moors16. Nor need such things surprise us, though the barriers which now separate Christian13 and Mahomedan, render them impossible. Nations are like individuals, and when they are brought into close and constant intercourse17, of whatever kind, their passions, good or bad, must be kindled18 by the contact.
But if Boiardo has apparently19 taken his principal fictions from the romances of Charlemagne, he has also resorted to other known quarries20, and ransacked21 classical as well as romantic fable22 for materials.
This edifice23, so constructed, which Boiardo did not live to finish, soon underwent alteration24 and repairs. The first were made by Niccolo degli Agostini, and later in the same century a second and more celebrated25 rifacimento of it, from which this translation is composed, was produced by Francesco Berni; whose name has given a distinctive26 epithet27 to the style of poetry, in which he excelled, and of which he is vulgarly supposed to have been the inventor.
This man was born of poor but noble parents, in a small town of Tuscany. He entered the church, to which he had evidently no disposition28, as a means of livelihood29, and, though as unqualified for servitude as for the discharge of his clerical duties, spent the better part of his life in dependence30. He appears, however, to have been blessed with a vein31 of cheerfulness, which, seconded by a lively imagination, enabled him to beguile32 the wearisome nature of occupations, which were uncongenial to him; and of this he has left many monuments in sonnets34 and pieces in terza rima, (styled in Italian capitoli,) consisting of satires36 and various species of ludicrous composition. The titles of many of these sufficiently37 attest38 their whimsicality, such as his Capitoli sugli Orinali, sidle Anguille, his Eulogy39 of the Plague, &c. &c. But the mode in which he has handled this last subject, will give the best insight into the character of his humour. Having premised that different persons gave a preference to different seasons — as the poet to the spring, and the reveller41 to the autumn, he observes, that one may well like the season of flowers, or the other that of fruits; but that, for his part, he preferred the time of plague. He then backs his predilection42 by a rehearsal43 of the advantages attending this visitation; observing that a man is in such times free from solicitations of borrowers or creditors44, and safe from disagreeable companions; that he has elbow-room at church and market, and can then only be said to be in the full possession of his natural liberty. He has rung all sorts of changes on this theme, and nothing can be more humorous than his details.
These are worked up with singular powers of diction, set off by great apparent facility of style, and are no less remarkable45 for music of rythm, richness of rhyme, and a happy boldness of expression. In this respect there is some analogy, though no likeness46, between Berni and Dryden; and the real merits of both are therefore imperfectly estimated by foreigners, and even by the generality of their own countrymen. Many Italians, indeed, consider Berni as a mere47 buffoon48, which the English reader will think less extraordinary, when he hears (as Lord Glenbervie4 observes, I think, in his notes to Ricciardetto,) that such an opinion has been entertained in Italy, even with regard to Ariosto.
4 I state this on Lord Glenbervie’s sole authority, which is, however, a weighty one. Such an opinion was probably current when he first knew Italy; but I should imagine it could hardly be entertained at present.
Better reasons may seem to palliate such a mistake of the real poetical49 character of Berni, than of that of Ariosto. Some of these are of a general description, and others of a nature more peculiarly applicable to his case. We may observe, as to the first, that whoever indulges his wit, in whatever species of composition, is usually misjudged; for wit, in the sight of the world, overlays all the other qualities of an author, in whatever act or pursuit he may be engaged. Thus a great English painter, single in his walk, and distinguished51 by his various powers, is looked upon by the multitude as a mere caricaturist, even where caricature is intended by him only as a foil to beauty; and orators52 have for the same reason sunk into jesters in the opinion of the mob, though they may have been equally distinguished for argumentative discussion or pathetic effect.
But other and more particular circumstances have tended to fix this character upon Berni. Few men have a delicate perception of familiar expression, and still fewer yet have a nice feeling of the delicacies53 of prosody54,
Untwisting all the links that tie
The secret chain of harmony.
Now it is for the bold, however dexterous55, use of language, and rythm, that Berni is principally distinguished; and hence, as the means through which he works are imperfectly understood by the majority of his readers, his object has been frequently mistaken. I should cite, in illustration of this, his description of a storm at sea, which has been often deemed burlesque56, but in which the poet would be more justly considered as working a fine effect by unwonted means.
Let us try this question by the rules of analogy. Men in all countries resemble one another in the main, and where they are not guided by a natural taste and judgment57, lean upon some rule, which is to direct them as an infallible guide. Depending upon this, they seldom consider that it may be narrow, or of insufficient58 support. Thus an Englishman who has learned to think about verse, by the help of a few simple precepts5, which he believes to be absolute, is taught to look upon the double rhyme as suited only to burlesque poetry. Yet Drummond’s
“Methought desponding nightingales did borrow,
Plaint of my plaint, and sorrow of my sorrow;”
and the description of him, who
“Saw with wonder,
Vast magazines of ice and piles of thunder,”6
might be cited to prove what widely different effects are produced by the same weapon, as it s differently wielded59. But, impressed with the notions of the laws of verse which I have specified60, that is, not knowing that almost all such metrical rules as have been alluded62 to, are merely conditional63, some Italians7, and certainly, almost all English readers of Italian poetry, suppose the triple rhyme, (la rima sdrucciola] or dactyl, as it is called by us, to be as exclusively applied64 to ludicrous composition in Italian, as the double rhyme is imagined to be in English; and this is perhaps one cause why some of Berni’s stanzas65, which abound67 in triple rhymes, have been so utterly68 misconceived in England. Yet Berni and Ariosto have frequently employed the versi sdruccioli where they have aimed at a bold or pathetic effect, though they have also undoubtedly69 been used by them to heighten that of comic or satirical composition. Caro the cotemporary of Berni is even profuse70 of triple rhymes in his translation of the AEneid; lyric71 poets, after the example of Chiabrera, often insert them in the sublimest73 of their odes; and one, who lately died full of years, managed the rime74 sdrucciole so easily, as to compose whole poems with them, and with such dignity, both of versification and expression, as (in the opinion of a distinguished Italian friend already cited) to vie with Tasso and Petrarch.
5 For example, there is no rule deemed more absolute, and yet there is none which admits more exceptions than the maxim75 forbidding a line of ten monosyllables. For monosyllables, in French and English, are often such only to the eye, such words being frequently, in both languages, melted into each other. Hence many good English verses consist of ten words, as that of Dryden, which will be in the recollection of every body,
“Arms and the man I sing, &c.”
and the French cite as beautiful a line of Racine, which is composed of twelve,
“Lej ur n’est pas plus pur rjue k fond de moil civiir.”
6 I quote from memory.
7 Thus Goldoni in one of his comedies introduces a man improvising77 in triple rhymes for the sake of producing a ludicrous effect. Goldoui, however, it must be confessed, is no authority in questions of language or of versification.
Now let a man keep such doctrines78 in mind; let him come to the consideration of Berni’s storm with a memory imbued79 with the sights and sounds seen and heard in one; let him consider all circumstances of metre, not absolutely, but conditionally80; that is, in their relation to each other and the thing described, and he will then, I believe, enter into the real spirit in which the poet executed this description, and contemplate81 him with very different eyes from those with which he viewed him before.
Another cause of misconception, to which I have already alluded, has probably more misled the mob of readers of Italian poetry, natives as well as foreigners. I mean the language of Berni; and as to this, certainly few very few, are capable of appreciating his skill, or even of making out his track. There is indeed, I believe, no poet of any country, who has attempted so difficult a flight; a flight of unwearied wing, struck out with courage, and maintained only by the most incessant84 exertion85 and care.
Traces of these are seen in what may be called the charts on which he has pricked87 out his course, and which, I understand, witness as much to his diligence, as Ariosto’s attest the care with which he accomplished88 his most extraordinary voyage. The documents to which I allude61, are the original MSS. of the Innamorato, preserved at Brescia. As I was ignorant of the existence of these, during two residences which I made in Italy, I can only speak of them on the testimony89 of others; but an Italian critic, whom I have often quoted, and from whose authority upon such points I would almost say there was no appeal, once assured me these are as much blotted90 as those of Ariosto at Ferrara; and that Berni seems to have usually clothed his thoughts in ornate language at first, which he rejected on after-consideration, simplifying, but at the same time improving, his diction, as he proceeded, till he arrived at that exquisite91 happiness of expression, that curiosa felicitas, which makes his principal charm. It is hence that he is the most untranslatable of authors; since in copying him, it is not only a question of imitating colours, but the fine and more elaborate touches of a peculiar50 pencil.
While, however, it is clear that the versification and diction make the great charms of the Innamorato) these beauties should not throw his other excellencies into shade; and the openings of the different cantos, which he has engrafted on the original work of Boiardo, sometimes original, and sometimes imitated from the older poets, are not greatly inferior to those which Ariosto has prefixed to the several cantos of the Furioso, in imitation of him; no, not even in the higher claims of poetical merit.
These sometimes consist of moral reflections, arising out of the narrative93; and the following may remind the reader of one of those little gems94 scattered95 through the plays of Shakspeare:
Who steals a bugle-horn, a ring, a steed,
Or such like worthless thing, has some discretion96.
’Tis petty larceny97. Not such his deed
Who robs us of our fame, our best possession;
And he who takes our labour’s worthiest98 meed,
May well be deemed a felon99 by profession;
Who so much more our hate and scourge100 de — serves,
As from the rule of right he wider swerves101.
Sometimes indulging in a declamation102 against vices103 or follies104, he makes his satire35 more poignant105 by allusions106 to some prevalent practice of the day: thus, in a sally against avarice107, he attacks those who masqued it under the disguise of hypocrisy108 in the following stanza66:
This other, under show of an adviser109
And practiser of what is strict and right;
But being in effect a rogue110 and miser111,
Cloisters112 a dozen daughters out of sight:
And fain would have the pretty creatures wiser
Than their frail113 sisters; but mistakes them quite;
For they are like the rest, and set the group
Of monks, and priests, and abbots, cock-a-hoop.
The following extract, illustrating114 a philosophical115 dogma of his age, taken from the opening of the forty-sixth canto92, is of another description, and may serve as a specimen116 of the variety of his vein, and the odd ingenuity117 with which he winds in and out of his argument; sometimes bearing up for his harbour when in the middle of a digression; and then, when he seems to feel himself sure of a retreat, indulging in a new sally, in which he however never entirely118 loses sight of his port.
1.
He who the name of little world applied
To man, in this approved his subtle wit:
Since, save it is not round, all things beside
Exactly with this happy symbol fit;
And I may say that long and deep, and wide
And middling, good and bad, are found in it.
Here too, the various elements combined
Are dominant119; snow, rain, and mist and wind.
2.
Now clear, now overcast120. ’Tis there its land
Will yield no fruit; here bears a rich supply:
As the mixt soil is marie, or barren sand;
And haply here too moist, or there too dry.
Here foaming121 hoarse122, and there with murmur123 bland124,
Streams glide125, or torrents126 tumble from on high.
Such of man’s appetites convey the notion:
Since these are infinite, and still in motion.
3.
Two solid dikes the invading streams repel127,
The one is Reason, and the other Shame.
The torrents, if above their banks they swell128,
Wit and discretion are too weak to tame.
The crystal waters, which so smoothly129 well,
Are appetites of things, devoid130 of blame.
Those winds, and rains, and snows, and night, and day,
Ye learned clerks, divine them as ye may.
4.
Among these elements, misfortune wills
Our nature should have most of earth: for she,
Moved by what influence heaven or sun instils132,
Is subject to their power; nor less are we.
In her, this star or that, in barren hills
Produces mines in rich variety:
And those who human nature wisely scan
May this discern peculiarly in man.
5.
Who would believe that various minerals grew,
And many metals, in our rugged133 mind;
From gold to nitre? Yet the thing is true;
But, out, alas134! the rub is how to find
This ore. Some letters and some wealth pursue,
Some fancy steeds, some dream, at ease reclined;
These song delights, and those the cittern’s sound,
Such are the mines which in our world abound.
6.
As these are worthier135, more or less, so they
Abound with lead or gold; and practised wight,
The various soil accustomed to survey,
Is fitted best to find the substance bright.
And such in our Apulia is the way
They heal those suffering from the spider’s bite;
Who strange vagaries136 play, like men possessed137;
Tarantulated8, as ’tis there express’d.
7.
For this, ’tis needful, touching138 sharp or flat,
To seek a sound which may the patients please;
Who, when they find the merry music pat,
Dance till they sweat away the foul139 disease.
And thus who should allure140 this man or that,
And still with various offer tempt82 and tease,
I wot, in little time, would ascertain141
And sound each different mortal’s mine and vein.
8 The Tarantula is now known to be harmless. The cause of its supposed mischievous142 effects, and the efficacy of the mode of curing them are perhaps easily explained. People are in all countries (though they are imagined to be peculiarly so in England) exposed to attacks of melancholy143, which arise out of some physical cause, whether indigestion, or other bodily complaint. The doctors of Calabria attributed this to the sting of the tarantula, which is assuredly not more extravagant144 than a popular English medical author’s ascribing jaundice to the bite of a mad dog. The patient, delighted to find a cause for his complaint, was easily, by leading questions, brought to recollect76 that he had, at some time or other, felt a prick86, which probably proceeded from the sting of a tarantula. Dancing was the remedy prescribed; and this, as exciting the animal spirits, fee. may very well have operated a cure of the real disease. The patients were to be played to, as Berni states, till a tune131 was struck which pleased their fancy, and animated145 them to exertion. The Tarantella, an air supposed to be particularly stimulating146 in such a case, is still a popular dance in the south of Italy. Modern philosophers have found out that the tarantula has no venom147.
8.
‘Twos so Brunello with Rogero wrought,
Who offered him the armour148 and the steed.
Thus by the cunning Greek his aid was bought,
Who laid fair Ilion smoking on the mead149.
Which was of yore in clearer numbers taught;
Nor shall I now repeat upon my reed,
Who from the furrow150 let my plough-share stray,
Unheeding how the moments glide away.
9.
As the first pilot by the shore did creep,
Who launched his boat upon the billows dark,
And where the liquid ocean was least deep,
And without sails impelled151 his humble152 barque;
But seaward next, where foaming waters leap,
By little and by little steered154 his ark,
With nothing but the wind and stars to guide,
And round about him glorious wonders spied.
10.
Thus I, who still have sung a humble strain,
And kept my little barque within its bounds,
Now find it fit to launch into the main,
And sing the fearful warfare155, which resounds157
Where Africa pours out her swarthy train,
And the wide world with mustered158 troops abounds159;
And, fanning fire and forge, each land and nation
Sends forth160 the dreadful note of preparation.
THE next extract I shall give, though it commences with his favourite figure of the barque, will serve as a specimen of a different style. It forms the opening of the second book. The two first lines the reader will trace to Dante, and will find in the remainder a translation of the AEneadum Genetrix of Lucretius.
1.
Launched on a deeper sea, my pinnace, rear
Thy sail, prepared to plough the billows dark;
And you, ye lucid161 stars, by whom I steer153
My feeble vessel162 to its destined163 mark,
Shine forth upon her course benign164 and clear,
And beam propitious165 on the daring barque
About to stem an ocean so profound:
While I your praises and your works resound156.
2.
O, holy mother of AEneas! O,
Daughter of Jove! thou bliss166 of gods above
And men beneath; VENUS, who makest grow
Green herb and plant, and fillest all with love;
Thou creatures that would else be cold and slow,
Dost with thy sovereign instinct warm and move,
Thou dost all jarring things in peace unite
The world’s eternal spirit, life and light.
3.
At thine appearance storm and rain have ceased,
And zephyr167 has unlocked the genial33 ground;
Leap the wild herds168; ’tis wanton nature’s feast,
And the green woods with singing birds resound;
While by strange pleasure stung, the savage169 beast
Lives but for love; what time their greenwood round
All creatures rove, or couch upon the sward,
Discord170 and hate forgot, in sweet accord.
4.
Thee, kind and gentle star! thy suppliant171 prays;
To thee I sue by every bolt which flies
Thro’ the fifth planet9, melting with thy rays,
When panting on thy lap the godhead lies,
And lock’d within thine arms, with upward gaze,
Feeds on thy visage his desiring eyes:
That thou wilt172 gain for me his grace, and grown
Propitious, with his grace accord thine own.
9 Mars.
5.
Since ’tis of thee I sing, as I have said,
And only of thy praise and pleasures dream;
Well pleased I to this fruitful field was led,
And sure I could not choose a sweeter theme.
Thou too, that down thy clear and ample bed
Dost run with grateful murmur, RAPID STREAM,
Awhile from thine impetuous course refrain,
While on thy banks I tune my mingled173 strain.
In the concluding address to the river, he apostrophizes the Adige, on whose banks he might be said to be writing, as he was then living hi the town of Verona, which is watered by it, in the service of the Cardinal174 di Bibbiena.
One more specimen of his poetical prefaces, and I have done. It is the introduction to his third book; and in this too the reader, who will recognize a passage of the ars poetica of Horace, may observe how well Berni translates and applies his classical recollections.
1.
As they, who their unhappy task fulfil
In mines of England, Hungary, and Spain,
The deeper that they dig the mountain, still
Find richer treasure and securer gain;
And as wayfaring175 man who climbs a hill,
Surveys, as he ascends176, a wider plain,
And shores and oceans open on his eye,
Exalted177 nearer to the starry178 sky:
2.
So in this book, indited179 for your pleasure,
If you believe and listen to my lore180,
You, in advancing, shall discern new treasure,
And catch new lights and landscapes evermore.
Then by no former scale my promise measure,
Nor judge this strain by that which went before:
Since still my caves and rugged rocks unfold
A richer vein of jewels, pearls, and gold.
3.
And he who winds about my mountain’s side,
Still spies new lands and seas, a glorious sight,
If patient industry and courage guide
Him from the valley to the frowning height.
Like prospect181 was the poet’s who supplied
Flame out of smoke, instead of smoke from light;
With wise Ulysses’ acts to fill our ears,
To the more wonderment of him who hears.
So much for the poetry of Berni. His life was not such as reflected any lustre182 on his works. This, if we reject some foul imputations cast upon him, was, to say the least of it, disreputable. It is, however, certain, that being at last established in a canonry at Florence, he lived there in high and accomplished society. This fact, however, in a profligate183 age, like that in which he flourished, proves nothing in his favour; and, if we listened to the stories of his biographers, we might suppose him even to have been courted for some of his vicious propensities184: for one of these writers tells us he was excited by the cardinal Ippolito de’ Medici to poison the duke Alexander, against whom he had a private pique185; another, would have us believe that he was tempted83 by the duke to poison the cardinal; and (to complicate186 the matter yet more) that the cardinal or the duke, or both, had poison administered to Berni himself, upon his refusal. The dates, however, of their respective deaths, are at variance187 with these strange assertions; and if such certain means of contradiction were wanting, the internal evidence of Berni’s character, however vicious, might be almost sufficient to refute such improbable calumnies188. It may be said, indeed, that perhaps no one was ever selected as a probable agent of guilt189, who seems to have been so little capable of engaging in the sort of crimes which were expected of him.
As a proof of this we might almost refer to the picture which he has given of himself, and which carries with it every warrant of resemblance. In one of the cantos of the last book of the Innamorato, he describes a number of persons as having become the victims of a tairy, of whom they afterwards remain the voluntary prisoners. Among these he has, in imitation of certain painters, introduced himself with another known character of the day: a circumstance which, together with the nature of the episode, might lead one to suspect that Thomson was indebted to this fiction for his Castle of Indolence. He has, however, given the tenants191 of his “ bowers192 of ease,” a character so much more intellectual than that of Berni’s actors, that he may very fairly pretend to the praise of original composition, even if his work be an imitation instead of a mere accidental coincidence; which I am more tempted to believe.10 But I draw the curtain of Berni’s picture.
10 I do not recollect any authority for Thomson’s having been conversant193 with Italian poetry; and I think that a view of his works would lead to a contrary supposition. Thus I should say that though no man could copy what he actually saw with a nicer hand or eye, no man had more need of study in the Italian school of ideal picture than this English poet. Jn his drawings from nature his colouring is as inimitable as his design; and his bird, who
“Shivers every feather with desire,”
is painted with the precision as well as the force of the Flemish pencil. Yet he has personified Autumn as
“Crowned with the sickle194 and the wheaten sheaf,”
thus putting on his head what should have been in his hand, and presenting us a ludicrous figure surmounted195 by a “ crumpled196 horn.” No Italian poet would have painted from nature with Thomson’s marvellous precision; and no Italian poet would have committed such gross offences against propriety197 as he has, in his imaginary pictures.
Book III. Canto VII.
36.
A boon198 companion to increase this crew
By chance, a gentle Florentine, was led;
A Florentine, altho’ the father who
Begot199 him, in the Casentine was bred;
Who nigh become a burgher of his new
Domicile, there was well content to wed8;
And so in Bibbiena wived, which ranks
Among the pleasant towns on Arno’s banks. ”
37.
At Lamporecchio, he of whom I write
Was born, for dumb Masetto11 fam’d of yore,
Thence roam’d to Florence; and in piteous plight200
There sojourned till nineteen, like pilgrim poor;
And shifted thence to Rome, with second flight
Hoping some succour from a kinsman’s store;
A cardinal allied201 to him by blood,
And one that neither did him harm nor good.
11 See Boccaccio.
38.
He to the nephew passed, this patron dead,
Who the same measure as his uncle meted202;
And then again in search of better bread,
With empty bowels203 from his house retreated;
And hearing, for his name and fame were spread,
The praise of one who serv’d the pope repeated,
And in the Roman court Datario hight,
He hired himself to him to read and write.
39.
This trade the unhappy man believed he knew;
But this belief was, like the rest, a bubble,
Since he could never please the patron, who
Fed him, nor ever once was out of trouble.
The worse he did, the more he had to do,
And only made his pain and penance204 double:
And thus, with sleeves and bosom205 stuffed with papers,
Wasted his wits, and lived oppressed with vapours.
40.
Add for his mischief206 (whether ’twas his little
Merit, misfortune, or his want of skill)
Some cures he farmed produced him not a tittle,
And only were a source of plague and ill.
Fire, water, storm, or devil, sacked vines and victual,
Whether the luckless wretch207 would tythe or till.
Some pensions too, which he possessed, were nought208,
And, like the rest, produced him not a groat.
41.
This notwithstanding, he his miseries209 slighted,
Like happy man, who not too deeply feels;
And all, but most the Roman lords, delighted,
Content in spite of tempests, writs210, or seals,
And oftentimes, to make them mirth, recited
Strange chapters upon urinals and eels;12
And other mad vagaries would rehearse,
That he had hitched211, Heaven help him! into verse.
12 See his Cajntoli sugli Orinali, Sulk dtiqitille, etc.
42.
His mood was choleric212, and his tongue was vicious,
But he was praised for singleness of heart;
Not taxed as avaricious213 or ambitious,
Affectionate, and frank, and void of art;
A lover of his friends, and unsuspicious;
But where he hated, knew no middle part;
And men his malice214 by his love might rate:
But then he was more prone215 to love than hate.
43.
To paint his person, this was thin and dry;
Well sorting it, his legs were spare and lean;
Broad was his visage, and his nose was high,
While narrow was the space that was between
His eye-brows sharp; and blue his hollow eye,
Which for his bushy beard had not been seen,
But that the master kept this thicket216 clear’d,
At mortal war with moustache and with board.
44.
No one did ever servitude detest217
Like him; though servitude was still his dole190:
Since fortune or the devil did their best
To keep him evermore beneath controul.
While, whatsoever218 was his patron’s hest,
To execute it went against his soul;
His service would he freely yield, unasked,
But lost all heart and hope, if he were tasked.
45.
Nor musick, hunting-match, nor mirthful measure,
Nor play, nor other pastime moved him aught;
And if ’twas true that horses gave him pleasure,
The simple sight of them was all he sought,
Too poor to purchase; and his only treasure
His naked bed: his pastime to do nought
But tumble there, and stretch his weary length,
And so recruit his spirits and his strength,
46.
Worn with the trade he long was used to slave in,
So heartless and so broken down was he;
He deemed he could not find a readier haven219,
Or safer port from that tempestuous220 sea;
Nor better cordial to recruit his craven
And jaded221 spirit, when he once was free,
Than to betake himself to bed, and do
Nothing, and mind and matter so renew.
47.
On this as on an art, he would dilate222,
In good set terms, and styled his bed a vest,
Which, as the wearer pleased, was small or great,
And of whatever fashion liked him best;
A simple mantle223, or a robe of state;
With that a gown of comfort and of rest:
Since whosoever slipt his daily clothes
For this, put off with these all worldly woes224.
48.
He by the noise and lights and music jaded
Of that long revel40, and the tramp and tread,
(Since every guest in his desires was aided,
And knaves225 performed their will as soon as said,)
Found out a chamber226 which was uninvaded,
And bade those varlets there prepare a bed,
Garnished227 with bolsters228 and with pillows fair,
At its four borders, and exactly square.
49.
This was six yards across by mensuration,
With sheets and curtains bleached229 by wave and breeze,
With a silk quilt for farther consolation230,
And all things fitting else: tho’ hard to please,
Six souls therein had found accommodation
But this man sighed for elbow-room and ease,
And here as in a sea was fain to swim,
Extending at his pleasure length and limb.
50.
By chance with him, to join the fairy’s train,
A Frenchman and a cook was thither231 brought;
One that had served in court with little gain,
Though he with sovereign care and cunning wrought.
For him, prepared with sheet and counterpane,
Another bed was, like his fellow’s, sought:
And ‘twixt the two, sufficient space was seen
For a fair table to be placed between.
51.
Upon this table, for the pair to dine,
Were savoury viands232 piled, prepared with art;
All ordered by this master-cook divine;
Boiled, roast, ragouts and jellies, paste and tart233:
But soups and syrups234 pleased the Florentine,
Who loathed235 fatigue236 like death, and for his part,
Brought neither teeth nor fingers into play;
But made two varlets feed him as he lay.
52.
Here couchant, nothing but his head was spied,
Sheeted and quilted to the very chin;
And needful food a serving man supplied
Thro’ pipe of silver, placed the mouth within.
Meantime the sluggard237 moved no part beside,
Holding all motion else were shame and sin;
And (so his spirits and his health were broke)
Not to fatigue this organ, seldom spoke238.
53.
The cook was master Peter hight, and he
Had tales at will to while away the day;
To him the Florentine: “ Those fools, pardie,
“Have little wit, who dance that endless Hay;”
And Peter in return, “ I think with thee.”
Then with some merry story backed the say;
Swallowed a mouthful and turned round in bed;
And so, by starts, talked, turned, and slept, and fed.
54.
And so the time these careless comrades cheated,
And still, without a change, ate, drank, and slept
Nor by the calendar their seasons meeted,
Nor register of days or sennights kept:
No dial told the passing hours, which fleeted,
Nor bell was heard; nor servant overstept
The threshold (so the pair proclaimed their will)
To bring them tale or tidings, good or ill.
55.
Above all other curses, pen and ink
Were by the Tuscan held in hate and scorn;
Who, worse than any loathsome239 sight or stink240,
Detested241 pen and paper, ink and horn:
So deeply did a deadly venom sink,
So festered in his flesh a rankling242 thorn;
While, night and day, with heart and garments rent,
Seven weary years the wretch in writing spent.
56.
Of all their ways to baffle time and tide,
This seems the strangest of their waking dreams:
Couched on their back, the two the rafters eyed,
And taxed their drowsy243 wits to count the beams;
“Tis thus they mark at leisure, which is wide,
Which short, or which of due proportion seems;
And which worm-eaten are, and which are sound,
And if the total sum is odd or round.13
13 I have already given a loose translation of this part of Berni’s acccount of himself in the Court of Beasts.
Having in the preceding part of this introduction, given some account of the mode in which I have executed my task as a translator, it may be expected that I should give some information respecting my labours as an editor. To speak frankly244, I have none to give: having annexed245 no commentary, or, at least, nothingworthy of being called a commentary, to this work. Some readers may, perhaps, think I have in this neglected my duty, and reproach me with not having pointed246 out the sources from which many of the fictions in the Innamorato are borrowed, or at least the points of resemblance which may be found between many of these and other ancient stories. It appeared, however, to me, that my readers were as likely as myself to be conversant with incidents to be found in the Spectator, Persian Talcs, Arabian Nighfs, and Bibltotheque Orientate247. Others who will, perhaps, thank me for sparing them such a display of common-place knowledge may, however, think I have erred9 in having done nothing to illustrate248 the allegory of the Innamorato. If I have not, the omission249 has arisen from a conviction of the inutility of such an attempt. I have read much that has been written upon the allegory of the Furioso, yet never met with any explanation of it, which I considered as satisfactory to myself, though I was persuaded that the commentators250 were right. Holding obscurity to be one source of the sublime72 in this branch of imagination, though I will not venture to extend the position further, it appears to me that the reader always best fills up an indistinct outline, according to his own fancy, and is more likely to derive251 pleasure from doing so, than from a solution which usually presents him with something very different from what he had preconceived. It is this consideration which has restrained me from doing more than throwing out a few ideas which suggested themselves on some parts of Boiardo’s allegory, and no wish to avoid any trouble which I might have thought satisfactorily bestowed252 on it. Still less have I been influenced by any fear of that ridicule253 which is so readily discharged upon Italian commentators, or those who report their lucubrations; for I can safely say, that I should have pursued the research to which I have alluded, if I had thought I could have done so with any satisfaction to myself, though I had met with no better recompence than that of being compared to the ass5 who carried off the dead body of the sphynx, after her enigma254 had been unriddled, and she herself slain255 by OEdipus.
点击收听单词发音
1 purporting | |
v.声称是…,(装得)像是…的样子( purport的现在分词 ) | |
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2 monks | |
n.修道士,僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
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3 anterior | |
adj.较早的;在前的 | |
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4 wrought | |
v.引起;以…原料制作;运转;adj.制造的 | |
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5 ass | |
n.驴;傻瓜,蠢笨的人 | |
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6 vassals | |
n.奴仆( vassal的名词复数 );(封建时代)诸侯;从属者;下属 | |
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7 insinuate | |
vt.含沙射影地说,暗示 | |
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8 wed | |
v.娶,嫁,与…结婚 | |
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9 erred | |
犯错误,做错事( err的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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10 knight | |
n.骑士,武士;爵士 | |
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11 consanguinity | |
n.血缘;亲族 | |
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12 Christians | |
n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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13 Christian | |
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
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14 justified | |
a.正当的,有理的 | |
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15 ballads | |
民歌,民谣,特别指叙述故事的歌( ballad的名词复数 ); 讴 | |
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16 moors | |
v.停泊,系泊(船只)( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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17 intercourse | |
n.性交;交流,交往,交际 | |
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18 kindled | |
(使某物)燃烧,着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 ); 激起(感情等); 发亮,放光 | |
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19 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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20 quarries | |
n.(采)石场( quarry的名词复数 );猎物(指鸟,兽等);方形石;(格窗等的)方形玻璃v.从采石场采得( quarry的第三人称单数 );从(书本等中)努力发掘(资料等);在采石场采石 | |
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21 ransacked | |
v.彻底搜查( ransack的过去式和过去分词 );抢劫,掠夺 | |
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22 fable | |
n.寓言;童话;神话 | |
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23 edifice | |
n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿,教室) | |
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24 alteration | |
n.变更,改变;蚀变 | |
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25 celebrated | |
adj.有名的,声誉卓著的 | |
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26 distinctive | |
adj.特别的,有特色的,与众不同的 | |
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27 epithet | |
n.(用于褒贬人物等的)表述形容词,修饰语 | |
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28 disposition | |
n.性情,性格;意向,倾向;排列,部署 | |
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29 livelihood | |
n.生计,谋生之道 | |
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30 dependence | |
n.依靠,依赖;信任,信赖;隶属 | |
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31 vein | |
n.血管,静脉;叶脉,纹理;情绪;vt.使成脉络 | |
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32 beguile | |
vt.欺骗,消遣 | |
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33 genial | |
adj.亲切的,和蔼的,愉快的,脾气好的 | |
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34 sonnets | |
n.十四行诗( sonnet的名词复数 ) | |
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35 satire | |
n.讽刺,讽刺文学,讽刺作品 | |
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36 satires | |
讽刺,讥讽( satire的名词复数 ); 讽刺作品 | |
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37 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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38 attest | |
vt.证明,证实;表明 | |
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39 eulogy | |
n.颂词;颂扬 | |
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40 revel | |
vi.狂欢作乐,陶醉;n.作乐,狂欢 | |
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41 reveller | |
n.摆设酒宴者,饮酒狂欢者 | |
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42 predilection | |
n.偏好 | |
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43 rehearsal | |
n.排练,排演;练习 | |
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44 creditors | |
n.债权人,债主( creditor的名词复数 ) | |
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45 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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46 likeness | |
n.相像,相似(之处) | |
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47 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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48 buffoon | |
n.演出时的丑角 | |
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49 poetical | |
adj.似诗人的;诗一般的;韵文的;富有诗意的 | |
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50 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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51 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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52 orators | |
n.演说者,演讲家( orator的名词复数 ) | |
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53 delicacies | |
n.棘手( delicacy的名词复数 );精致;精美的食物;周到 | |
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54 prosody | |
n.诗体论,作诗法 | |
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55 dexterous | |
adj.灵敏的;灵巧的 | |
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56 burlesque | |
v.嘲弄,戏仿;n.嘲弄,取笑,滑稽模仿 | |
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57 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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58 insufficient | |
adj.(for,of)不足的,不够的 | |
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59 wielded | |
手持着使用(武器、工具等)( wield的过去式和过去分词 ); 具有; 运用(权力); 施加(影响) | |
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60 specified | |
adj.特定的 | |
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61 allude | |
v.提及,暗指 | |
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62 alluded | |
提及,暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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63 conditional | |
adj.条件的,带有条件的 | |
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64 applied | |
adj.应用的;v.应用,适用 | |
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65 stanzas | |
节,段( stanza的名词复数 ) | |
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66 stanza | |
n.(诗)节,段 | |
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67 abound | |
vi.大量存在;(in,with)充满,富于 | |
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68 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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69 undoubtedly | |
adv.确实地,无疑地 | |
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70 profuse | |
adj.很多的,大量的,极其丰富的 | |
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71 lyric | |
n.抒情诗,歌词;adj.抒情的 | |
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72 sublime | |
adj.崇高的,伟大的;极度的,不顾后果的 | |
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73 sublimest | |
伟大的( sublime的最高级 ); 令人赞叹的; 极端的; 不顾后果的 | |
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74 rime | |
n.白霜;v.使蒙霜 | |
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75 maxim | |
n.格言,箴言 | |
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76 recollect | |
v.回忆,想起,记起,忆起,记得 | |
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77 improvising | |
即兴创作(improvise的现在分词形式) | |
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78 doctrines | |
n.教条( doctrine的名词复数 );教义;学说;(政府政策的)正式声明 | |
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79 imbued | |
v.使(某人/某事)充满或激起(感情等)( imbue的过去式和过去分词 );使充满;灌输;激发(强烈感情或品质等) | |
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80 conditionally | |
adv. 有条件地 | |
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81 contemplate | |
vt.盘算,计议;周密考虑;注视,凝视 | |
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82 tempt | |
vt.引诱,勾引,吸引,引起…的兴趣 | |
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83 tempted | |
v.怂恿(某人)干不正当的事;冒…的险(tempt的过去分词) | |
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84 incessant | |
adj.不停的,连续的 | |
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85 exertion | |
n.尽力,努力 | |
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86 prick | |
v.刺伤,刺痛,刺孔;n.刺伤,刺痛 | |
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87 pricked | |
刺,扎,戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 ); 刺伤; 刺痛; 使剧痛 | |
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88 accomplished | |
adj.有才艺的;有造诣的;达到了的 | |
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89 testimony | |
n.证词;见证,证明 | |
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90 blotted | |
涂污( blot的过去式和过去分词 ); (用吸墨纸)吸干 | |
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91 exquisite | |
adj.精美的;敏锐的;剧烈的,感觉强烈的 | |
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92 canto | |
n.长篇诗的章 | |
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93 narrative | |
n.叙述,故事;adj.叙事的,故事体的 | |
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94 gems | |
growth; economy; management; and customer satisfaction 增长 | |
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95 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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96 discretion | |
n.谨慎;随意处理 | |
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97 larceny | |
n.盗窃(罪) | |
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98 worthiest | |
应得某事物( worthy的最高级 ); 值得做某事; 可尊敬的; 有(某人或事物)的典型特征 | |
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99 felon | |
n.重罪犯;adj.残忍的 | |
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100 scourge | |
n.灾难,祸害;v.蹂躏 | |
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101 swerves | |
n.(使)改变方向,改变目的( swerve的名词复数 )v.(使)改变方向,改变目的( swerve的第三人称单数 ) | |
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102 declamation | |
n. 雄辩,高调 | |
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103 vices | |
缺陷( vice的名词复数 ); 恶习; 不道德行为; 台钳 | |
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104 follies | |
罪恶,时事讽刺剧; 愚蠢,蠢笨,愚蠢的行为、思想或做法( folly的名词复数 ) | |
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105 poignant | |
adj.令人痛苦的,辛酸的,惨痛的 | |
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106 allusions | |
暗指,间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
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107 avarice | |
n.贪婪;贪心 | |
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108 hypocrisy | |
n.伪善,虚伪 | |
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109 adviser | |
n.劝告者,顾问 | |
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110 rogue | |
n.流氓;v.游手好闲 | |
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111 miser | |
n.守财奴,吝啬鬼 (adj.miserly) | |
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112 cloisters | |
n.(学院、修道院、教堂等建筑的)走廊( cloister的名词复数 );回廊;修道院的生活;隐居v.隐退,使与世隔绝( cloister的第三人称单数 ) | |
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113 frail | |
adj.身体虚弱的;易损坏的 | |
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114 illustrating | |
给…加插图( illustrate的现在分词 ); 说明; 表明; (用示例、图画等)说明 | |
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115 philosophical | |
adj.哲学家的,哲学上的,达观的 | |
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116 specimen | |
n.样本,标本 | |
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117 ingenuity | |
n.别出心裁;善于发明创造 | |
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118 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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119 dominant | |
adj.支配的,统治的;占优势的;显性的;n.主因,要素,主要的人(或物);显性基因 | |
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120 overcast | |
adj.阴天的,阴暗的,愁闷的;v.遮盖,(使)变暗,包边缝;n.覆盖,阴天 | |
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121 foaming | |
adj.布满泡沫的;发泡 | |
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122 hoarse | |
adj.嘶哑的,沙哑的 | |
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123 murmur | |
n.低语,低声的怨言;v.低语,低声而言 | |
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124 bland | |
adj.淡而无味的,温和的,无刺激性的 | |
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125 glide | |
n./v.溜,滑行;(时间)消逝 | |
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126 torrents | |
n.倾注;奔流( torrent的名词复数 );急流;爆发;连续不断 | |
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127 repel | |
v.击退,抵制,拒绝,排斥 | |
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128 swell | |
vi.膨胀,肿胀;增长,增强 | |
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129 smoothly | |
adv.平滑地,顺利地,流利地,流畅地 | |
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130 devoid | |
adj.全无的,缺乏的 | |
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131 tune | |
n.调子;和谐,协调;v.调音,调节,调整 | |
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132 instils | |
v.逐渐使某人获得(某种可取的品质),逐步灌输( instil的第三人称单数 ) | |
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133 rugged | |
adj.高低不平的,粗糙的,粗壮的,强健的 | |
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134 alas | |
int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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135 worthier | |
应得某事物( worthy的比较级 ); 值得做某事; 可尊敬的; 有(某人或事物)的典型特征 | |
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136 vagaries | |
n.奇想( vagary的名词复数 );异想天开;异常行为;难以预测的情况 | |
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137 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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138 touching | |
adj.动人的,使人感伤的 | |
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139 foul | |
adj.污秽的;邪恶的;v.弄脏;妨害;犯规;n.犯规 | |
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140 allure | |
n.诱惑力,魅力;vt.诱惑,引诱,吸引 | |
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141 ascertain | |
vt.发现,确定,查明,弄清 | |
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142 mischievous | |
adj.调皮的,恶作剧的,有害的,伤人的 | |
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143 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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144 extravagant | |
adj.奢侈的;过分的;(言行等)放肆的 | |
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145 animated | |
adj.生气勃勃的,活跃的,愉快的 | |
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146 stimulating | |
adj.有启发性的,能激发人思考的 | |
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147 venom | |
n.毒液,恶毒,痛恨 | |
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148 armour | |
(=armor)n.盔甲;装甲部队 | |
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149 mead | |
n.蜂蜜酒 | |
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150 furrow | |
n.沟;垄沟;轨迹;车辙;皱纹 | |
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151 impelled | |
v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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152 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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153 steer | |
vt.驾驶,为…操舵;引导;vi.驾驶 | |
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154 steered | |
v.驾驶( steer的过去式和过去分词 );操纵;控制;引导 | |
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155 warfare | |
n.战争(状态);斗争;冲突 | |
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156 resound | |
v.回响 | |
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157 resounds | |
v.(指声音等)回荡于某处( resound的第三人称单数 );产生回响;(指某处)回荡着声音 | |
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158 mustered | |
v.集合,召集,集结(尤指部队)( muster的过去式和过去分词 );(自他人处)搜集某事物;聚集;激发 | |
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159 abounds | |
v.大量存在,充满,富于( abound的第三人称单数 ) | |
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160 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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161 lucid | |
adj.明白易懂的,清晰的,头脑清楚的 | |
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162 vessel | |
n.船舶;容器,器皿;管,导管,血管 | |
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163 destined | |
adj.命中注定的;(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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164 benign | |
adj.善良的,慈祥的;良性的,无危险的 | |
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165 propitious | |
adj.吉利的;顺利的 | |
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166 bliss | |
n.狂喜,福佑,天赐的福 | |
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167 zephyr | |
n.和风,微风 | |
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168 herds | |
兽群( herd的名词复数 ); 牧群; 人群; 群众 | |
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169 savage | |
adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
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170 discord | |
n.不和,意见不合,争论,(音乐)不和谐 | |
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171 suppliant | |
adj.哀恳的;n.恳求者,哀求者 | |
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172 wilt | |
v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎;(指人)疲倦,衰弱 | |
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173 mingled | |
混合,混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 ); 混进,与…交往[联系] | |
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174 cardinal | |
n.(天主教的)红衣主教;adj.首要的,基本的 | |
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175 wayfaring | |
adj.旅行的n.徒步旅行 | |
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176 ascends | |
v.上升,攀登( ascend的第三人称单数 ) | |
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177 exalted | |
adj.(地位等)高的,崇高的;尊贵的,高尚的 | |
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178 starry | |
adj.星光照耀的, 闪亮的 | |
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179 indited | |
v.写(文章,信等)创作,赋诗,创作( indite的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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180 lore | |
n.传说;学问,经验,知识 | |
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181 prospect | |
n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
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182 lustre | |
n.光亮,光泽;荣誉 | |
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183 profligate | |
adj.行为不检的;n.放荡的人,浪子,肆意挥霍者 | |
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184 propensities | |
n.倾向,习性( propensity的名词复数 ) | |
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185 pique | |
v.伤害…的自尊心,使生气 n.不满,生气 | |
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186 complicate | |
vt.使复杂化,使混乱,使难懂 | |
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187 variance | |
n.矛盾,不同 | |
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188 calumnies | |
n.诬蔑,诽谤,中伤(的话)( calumny的名词复数 ) | |
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189 guilt | |
n.犯罪;内疚;过失,罪责 | |
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190 dole | |
n.救济,(失业)救济金;vt.(out)发放,发给 | |
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191 tenants | |
n.房客( tenant的名词复数 );佃户;占用者;占有者 | |
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192 bowers | |
n.(女子的)卧室( bower的名词复数 );船首锚;阴凉处;鞠躬的人 | |
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193 conversant | |
adj.亲近的,有交情的,熟悉的 | |
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194 sickle | |
n.镰刀 | |
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195 surmounted | |
战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 ); 克服(困难); 居于…之上; 在…顶上 | |
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196 crumpled | |
adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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197 propriety | |
n.正当行为;正当;适当 | |
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198 boon | |
n.恩赐,恩物,恩惠 | |
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199 begot | |
v.为…之生父( beget的过去式 );产生,引起 | |
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200 plight | |
n.困境,境况,誓约,艰难;vt.宣誓,保证,约定 | |
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201 allied | |
adj.协约国的;同盟国的 | |
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202 meted | |
v.(对某人)施以,给予(处罚等)( mete的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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203 bowels | |
n.肠,内脏,内部;肠( bowel的名词复数 );内部,最深处 | |
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204 penance | |
n.(赎罪的)惩罪 | |
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205 bosom | |
n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
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206 mischief | |
n.损害,伤害,危害;恶作剧,捣蛋,胡闹 | |
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207 wretch | |
n.可怜的人,不幸的人;卑鄙的人 | |
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208 nought | |
n./adj.无,零 | |
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209 miseries | |
n.痛苦( misery的名词复数 );痛苦的事;穷困;常发牢骚的人 | |
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210 writs | |
n.书面命令,令状( writ的名词复数 ) | |
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211 hitched | |
(免费)搭乘他人之车( hitch的过去式和过去分词 ); 搭便车; 攀上; 跃上 | |
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212 choleric | |
adj.易怒的,性情暴躁的 | |
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213 avaricious | |
adj.贪婪的,贪心的 | |
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214 malice | |
n.恶意,怨恨,蓄意;[律]预谋 | |
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215 prone | |
adj.(to)易于…的,很可能…的;俯卧的 | |
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216 thicket | |
n.灌木丛,树林 | |
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217 detest | |
vt.痛恨,憎恶 | |
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218 whatsoever | |
adv.(用于否定句中以加强语气)任何;pron.无论什么 | |
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219 haven | |
n.安全的地方,避难所,庇护所 | |
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220 tempestuous | |
adj.狂暴的 | |
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221 jaded | |
adj.精疲力竭的;厌倦的;(因过饱或过多而)腻烦的;迟钝的 | |
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222 dilate | |
vt.使膨胀,使扩大 | |
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223 mantle | |
n.斗篷,覆罩之物,罩子;v.罩住,覆盖,脸红 | |
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224 woes | |
困境( woe的名词复数 ); 悲伤; 我好苦哇; 某人就要倒霉 | |
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225 knaves | |
n.恶棍,无赖( knave的名词复数 );(纸牌中的)杰克 | |
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226 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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227 garnished | |
v.给(上餐桌的食物)加装饰( garnish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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228 bolsters | |
n.长枕( bolster的名词复数 );垫子;衬垫;支持物v.支持( bolster的第三人称单数 );支撑;给予必要的支持;援助 | |
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229 bleached | |
漂白的,晒白的,颜色变浅的 | |
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230 consolation | |
n.安慰,慰问 | |
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231 thither | |
adv.向那里;adj.在那边的,对岸的 | |
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232 viands | |
n.食品,食物 | |
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233 tart | |
adj.酸的;尖酸的,刻薄的;n.果馅饼;淫妇 | |
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234 syrups | |
n.糖浆,糖汁( syrup的名词复数 );糖浆类药品 | |
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235 loathed | |
v.憎恨,厌恶( loathe的过去式和过去分词 );极不喜欢 | |
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236 fatigue | |
n.疲劳,劳累 | |
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237 sluggard | |
n.懒人;adj.懒惰的 | |
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238 spoke | |
n.(车轮的)辐条;轮辐;破坏某人的计划;阻挠某人的行动 v.讲,谈(speak的过去式);说;演说;从某种观点来说 | |
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239 loathsome | |
adj.讨厌的,令人厌恶的 | |
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240 stink | |
vi.发出恶臭;糟透,招人厌恶;n.恶臭 | |
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241 detested | |
v.憎恶,嫌恶,痛恨( detest的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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242 rankling | |
v.(使)痛苦不已,(使)怨恨不已( rankle的现在分词 ) | |
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243 drowsy | |
adj.昏昏欲睡的,令人发困的 | |
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244 frankly | |
adv.坦白地,直率地;坦率地说 | |
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245 annexed | |
[法] 附加的,附属的 | |
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246 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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247 orientate | |
v.给…定位;使适应 | |
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248 illustrate | |
v.举例说明,阐明;图解,加插图 | |
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249 omission | |
n.省略,删节;遗漏或省略的事物,冗长 | |
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250 commentators | |
n.评论员( commentator的名词复数 );时事评论员;注释者;实况广播员 | |
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251 derive | |
v.取得;导出;引申;来自;源自;出自 | |
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252 bestowed | |
赠给,授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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253 ridicule | |
v.讥讽,挖苦;n.嘲弄 | |
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254 enigma | |
n.谜,谜一样的人或事 | |
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255 slain | |
杀死,宰杀,杀戮( slay的过去分词 ); (slay的过去分词) | |
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