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James. No, sir, he,
Vex'd with a morbid devil in his blood
That veil'd the world with jaundice, hid his face
He lost the sense that handles daily life—
That keeps us all in order more or less-
James. Nay, who knows? he's here and there.
But let him go; his devil goes with him,
James. You saw the man but yesterday:
Sets forth, and meets a friend who hails him, "What! You're flitting!" "Yes, we're flitting," says the ghost, (For they had pack'd the thing among the beds,)
"Oh well," says he, "you flitting with us too— Jack, turn the horses' heads and home again."
John. He left his wife behind; for so I heard.
John. Oh yet but I remember, ten years back—
As clean and white as privet when it flowers.
James. Ay, ay, the blossom fades, and they that loved
At first like dove and dove were cat and dog.
She was the daughter of a cottager
Out of her sphere. What betwixt shame and pride,
To what she is: a nature never kind!
Like men, like manners: like breeds like, they say.
Kind nature is the best: those manners next
That fit us like a nature second-hand;
Which are indeed the manners of the great.
John. But I had heard it was this bill that past, And fear of change at home, that drove him hence. James. That was the last drop in the cup of gall. I once was near him, when his bailiff brought
A Chartist pike. You should have seen him wince
Destructive, when I had not what I would.
Which cherubs want. He had a sow, sir. She,
Lay great with pig, wallowing in sun and mud.
By night we dragg'd her to the college tower
And so return'd unfarrow'd to her sty.
John. They found you out?
James. Not they.
John. Well-after all
What know we of the secret of a man?
His nerves were wrong. What ails us, who are sound,
That we should mimic this raw fool the world,
Which charts us all in its coarse blacks or whites,
As ruthless as a baby with a worm,
As cruel as a schoolboy ere he grows
To Pity-more from ignorance than will.