But with fresh soul and senses unimpair’d
What from the pale reflexion of report
We catch at second hand, and much beside
That in our solitary cells we miss.
Luc. Ay, truly we that travel see strange things,
Though said to tell of stranger; some of us,
Deceived ourselves, or seeking to deceive,
With prodigies and monsters which the world,
As wide and full of wonders as it is,
Never yet saw, I think, nor ever will: