"Ha, Roger, I was deep in my thoughts, what would ye?"
"Master, hast ever a pricking in the hairs of thy head?"
"Not I."
"Dost ever feel a tingling in the soles of thy feet?"
"Not so, in truth."
"Why then a shivering, quaking o' the back-bone?"
"Roger, man, what troubles thee now?"
"I do fear thou'rt be-devilled and moon-struck, master!"
"Why so?"
"Betimes thou dost smile upon the moon—for no reason; scowl upon the earth—for no reason; work with thy lips yet speak no word, and therewith do bite thy fingers-ends, clench thy fists—and all for no reason. Moreover, thou'rt quick and slow in thy gait, sighing gustily off and on—so it is I do sweat for thee."