A legal broom's a moral chimney-sweeper,
And that's the reason he himself's so dirty;
The endless soot[532] bestows a tint far deeper
Than can be hid by altering his shirt; he
Retains the sable stains of the dark creeper,
At least some twenty-nine do out of thirty,
In all their habits;—not so you, I own;
As Cæsar wore his robe you wear your gown.[533]
XVI.
And all our little feuds, at least all mine,