Than Ydun, nowhere can be found:
’Tis time thy sland’rous tongue were bound,
Yet ’tis to me indifferent.
Foul sower of all calumny!
What wretched harvests must thou reap!
Pursue thy trade! add lie to lie!
I hold thy utmost malice cheap.
LOK.
To men thou’rt scornful, cold, and glum,
But that is while the day shines bright: