Till from his face the mask is torn.
(Dissecting him,)
I rip him open! lo, his heart
Is foul and black in every part!
A cancerous ulcer gnaweth there,
Defying the healer’s skill and care;
Now with this probe its depths I sound;
Ha! what is this that I have found?
A yielding something not quite rotten;
What can it be? (Drawing it out on the point of his probe,)