Ser. I do not say ’twas not so;
But, sir, to carry back the metaphor
Your ingenuity has turn’d against me,
That tender flower, transplanted it may be
To other skies and soil, might in good time
Strike down such roots and strengthen such a stem
As were not to be shook: the temple, too,
Though seeming slight to look on, being yet
Of nature’s fundamental marble built,
When once that foolish idol was dethroned,