Their wooden swords it was that stung my skin, like flies.
Henceforward I’ll not list to such cajoleries,—
Of elves and demons, in the wilderness, mere cries.
Tear, rend them; O my heart, pay no regard to them.
Strip off their skins; there’s naught beneath; mere stratagem.”210
When words deceitful are employed as wraps for guile,
They’re bubbles on the water, only last a while.
Such words are merely shell; th’ intent their kernel is;—
Or coloured portraiture of man; no life is his.
A shell may often cover kernel of foul smell.