There are some
Think me too—orthodox. O, I know the whine
That fools will raise hereafter. Buffon quailed;
Why did not Buffon like our noble selves
Wear a vicarious halo of martyrdom?
Strange—that desire of small sadistic eyes
At ease on the shore to watch a shipwrecked man
Drowning. Lucretius praised that barbarous pleasure.
Mine is a subtler savagery. I prefer
To watch, from a little hill above their world,