To see the—the—the Devil domiciled?"
Whereto sobbed Xanthus, "Father, 't is yourself
Installed, a limning which our utmost pelf
Went to procure against to-morrow's loss;
He takes up the thread of discourse.
And that's no twy-prong, but a pastoral cross,
You're painted with!"
His puckered brows unfold—
And you shall hear Sordello's story told.