That yet are free to wander, glide, and pass
About that under-sapphire, whereinto
Yourselves transfusing you yourselves englass!
Ros. What mystery is this?
Fife. Why, the man’s mad:
That’s all the mystery. That’s why he’s chain’d—
And why—
Seg. Nor Nature’s guiltless life alone—
But that which lives on blood and rapine; nay,
Chartered with larger liberty to slay