This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1908 Excerpt: … like thin milk. Davy. Are you a hermit? Francesco. Turnip-headed child, I am a hermit; but, by cowl and beads! I mean to have real milk, not rainy slops: Inform old gaffer turnip, your papa. Davy. My papa is no turnip. But, Mr. Hermit, old Buttercup, our cow, overset the milk pail, while the new young lady was milking her; and, to give good quantity, I put in–Francesco. Scoundrels all! The more I retire from the world into rural innocence, the more I find scoundrels everywhere. Go, go! You have half spoiled my third canto already. Put what you like in the milk, but leave me my illusions. I must have them for this testament of poetry. (Exit Davy.) Where was I? O, ‘Alfonso smote, (Writes rapidly and excitedly.) 'And quick the blood came spouting from the gash, 'Arrosing all the verdure of the mead, 'Like (A pause and gesture.) 'Like showers of April’s hot and pregnant rain, 'Whose steam engenders the sweet violet.’ (Enter Roderigo, dressed as a hermit, and kneels.) Roderigo. O reverend man, that with thy sainted pen, Inditest prayers! turn from thy holy task, To help an outcast and a suppliant. Francesco. (Who does not hear Roderigo.) ‘Engenders the sweet violet’ is good. RODERIGO. Turn from thy beads of faith, to tell my sins. Francesco. (Turns and see Roderigo.) Another hermit! Sirrah, leave this spot! Already have you marred my metaphor! Is there no quiet in the whole, wide world? What would you?–But no matter what you would, There shall not live two hermits in this wood. It is not decent, just, nor usual, Where I have occupied, to pitch your hut. Away! or I will strike you, evil man. Roderigo. Listen: I am no hermit; but a youth Who, in a desperate duel, killed his foe, And seeks by solitude and penitence, To wash his life from sin. Francesco. Go furth…
