The rare word disjune is formed from the Old French prefix des-, dis-, which comes from the Latin prefix dis- “apart, asunder, in two, in different directions” (the prefix dis- is related to the Latin numeral duo “two”). The Latin prefix may also be used like the English prefix un- to express the reverse or negative of the positive, e.g., untie, undo. Old French ü is thus an “unfast.” The Old French element -jun, -ü comes from the Latin adjective ŧūԳܲ “hungry, fasting” and by extension “poor, barren.” In Medieval Latin the noun ŧūԳܳ (the neuter singular of the Latin adjective ŧūԳܲ) means “middle part of the small intestine,” so called because the jejunum was often found empty after death. The etymology of Latin ŧūԳܲ is unknown. The noun disjune entered English in the late 15th century; its use as a verb dates from the late 16th century.
Take a disjune of muscadel and eggs!
And when the two comrades were in the midst of their disjune the knight began to ask the monk (who knew everybody) about the barge he had seen the day before.
verb
to breed, produce, or create rapidly.
The English verb pullulate derives from the Latin verb ܱܱ “to sprout, put forth shoots, bring forth,” a derivative of the noun pullus “young animal, foal.” The Latin words derive from the Proto-Indo-European root pau-, ō-, ū- (with various suffixes) “little, small, few.” The suffixed forms pau-o- and pau-ko form Germanic (English) few and Latin paucus “small, slight,” respectively (the Latin adjective is also the source of Spanish and Italian poco). The suffixed form ō-Dz yields Greek ôDz “foal, young girl, young boy,” and Germanic (English) foal. The suffixed form pu-er- forms Latin puer “boy” and puella “girl” (from assumed puerla). Pullulate entered English in the early 17th century.
Abundant foodstuffs, a benign climate, lack of natural enemies, high reproductive rate, minimal shooting pressure, and adequate habitat had all combined to allow the birds to pullulate wildly out of control–in fact to reach pestilential proportions.
It is evident, for anyone with eyes to see, that for half a century, animals and people alike have tended to multiply, to proliferate, to pullulate in a truly disquieting proportion.
Dornick is an Americanism dating back to 1830–40 from Irish ǰó “small stone, handful,” from dorn “f.”
Indulging a few moments’ contemplation of its freckled rind, I broke it open with a stone, a rock, a dornick, in boy’s language.
The rock throwers must have been cads or they wouldn’t have flung a dornick at that small bundle of pink-and-white loveliness …