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“Oh well,” says he, “you flitting with us tooJack, turn the horses' heads and home again.”
John. He left his wife behind; for so I heard.
James. He left her, yes. I met my lady once :
John. Oh yet but I remember, ten years back-
James. Ay, ay, the blossom fades, and they that loved
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 As from a venomous thing : he thought himself A mark for all, and shudder'd, lest a cry Should break his sleep by night, and his nice eyes Should see the raw mechanic's bloody thumbs Sweat on his blazon'd chairs; but, sir, you know That these two parties still divide the worldOf those that want, and those that have : and still The same old sore breaks out from age to age With much the same result. Now I, that am A Tory to the quick, was as a boy Destructive, when I had not what I would. I was at school—a college in the South : There lived a flayflint near ; we stole his fruit, His hens, his eggs ; but there was law for us ; We paid in person. He had a sow, sir. With meditative grunts of much content, Lay great with pig, wallowing in sun and mud.
By night we dragg'd her to the college tower
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,
Of sin, my flesh, which I despise and hate,
loins I wore The rope that haled the buckets from the well, Twisted as tight as I could knot the noose ; And spake not of it to a single soul, Until the ulcer, eating through my skin, Betray'd my secret penance, so that all My brethren marvell’d greatly. More than this I bore, whereof, O God, thou knowest all.
Three winters, that my soul might grow to thee, I lived up there on yonder mountain side. My right leg chain'd into the crag, I lay Pent in a roofless close of ragged stones ; Inswath'd sometimes in wandering mist, and twice Black'd with thy branding thunder, and sometimes Sucking the damps for drink, and eating not, Except the spare chance-gift of those that came To touch my body and be heal'd, and live :
And they say then that I work'd miracles, Whereof my fame is loud amongst mankind, Cured lameness, palsies, cancers. Thou, O God,
Knowest alone whether this was or no.
Have mercy, mercy ; cover all my sin.
Then, that I might be more alone with thee,
I think that I have borne as much as this
So much-even so.
And yet I know not well, For that the evil ones come here, and say, “Fall down, O Simeon : thou hast suffer'd long For ages and for ages !” then they prate Of penances I cannot have gone thro',