Were just the daintiest pricking. If I may brag
Of home, our cities are more orderly.
Bl. ’Tis a hot-blooded race, sir, full of stirrings,
Subject to fermentation, and like good wine
Ever the better for it.
Fer.But can you tell me
The real cause of these disturbances?
Bl. Nothing is easier, sir. Your viceroy, Hugo,
This is the point, is plunged in disesteem.
He has lost the fear and won the hate of the people.