Preaches you hot and cold together.
Thither the hawk will ne’er steal in;
Down, down he sweeps from Svartetind,—
Yonder he sits, the ugly block,
Like my church-steeple’s weathercock.
Brand.
Wild is thy way, and wild thy soul,—
A cittern with a shatter’d bowl.
Of dulness dulness is the brood,—
But evil’s lightly won to good.