I may be doubly damn’d. How impious,—
The will that thus would manage other wills;
As though we men were puppets of a show,
Not spirits, restless and irresolute,
Poised on a point between the right and wrong
From which a breath may launch for heaven or hell!—
You dare submit to this impiety?”
“But, Haydn,” said I, “you, too, heed advice.”
“Advice?” he answer’d. “What?—is this the ground
On which these base authority?—Nay, nay,