I’m not nearly so bad as perhaps you think,—
Indeed I’ve done more or less good in the world;—
At worst you may call me a sort of a bungler,—
But certainly not an exceptional sinner.
The Button-moulder.
Why that is precisely the rub, my man;
You’re no sinner at all in the higher sense;
That’s why you’re excused all the torture-pangs,
And, like others, land in the casting-ladle.
Peer.