"Just now, my lord," replied Yoomy, "I was singing to myself, as I often do, and by your leave, I will continue aloud."
"Better begin at the beginning, I should think," said the chronicler, both hands to his chin, beginning at the top to new braid his beard.
"No: like the roots of your beard, old Mohi, all beginnings are stiff," cried Babbalanja. "We are lucky in living midway in eternity. So sing away, Yoomy, where you left off," and thus saying he unloosed his girdle for the song, as Apicius would for a banquet.
"Shall I continue aloud, then, my lord?"
My lord nodded, and Yoomy sang:--
"Full round, full soft, her dewy arms,-- Sweet shelter from all Mardi's harms!"
"Whose arms?" cried Mohi.
Sang Yoomy:--
Diving deep in the sea, She takes sunshine along: Down flames in the sea, As
