Would leave to battle singly with his woes—
What is a man's soul to a drove of hogs?
Which being lost, men play the hypocrite
And make the owner chief in the affair.
You banish me for witchcraft. I submit.
Work of this kind awaits me everywhere.
And into swine where better they belong,
Casting the swinish devils out of men
The devils have their place at last, and then
The man is healed who had them—where's the wrong