And, like the dog in the adage, drop the true bone
With snapping at the sham one in the water?
What were you born a man for?

Lewis. Ay, I know it:--
I cannot live on dreams. Oh for one friend,
Myself, yet not myself; one not so high
But she could love me, not too pure to pardon
My sloth and meanness! Oh for flesh and blood,
Before whose feet I could adore, yet love!
How easy then were duty! From her lips
To learn my daily task;--in her pure eyes
To see the living type of those heaven-glories
I dare not look on;--let her work her will
Of love and wisdom on these straining hinds;--
To squire a saint around her labour field,
And she and it both mine:--That were possession!

Con. The flesh, fair youth--

Wal. Avaunt, bald snake, avaunt!
We are past your burrow now. Come, come, Lord Landgrave,
Look round, and find your saint.

Lewis. Alas! one such--
One such, I know, who upward from one cradle
Beside me like a sister--No, thank God! no sister!--
Has grown and grown, and with her mellow shade
Has blanched my thornless thoughts to her own hue,
And even now is budding into blossom,