Meanwhile! for I, this idle strap to wear,
Shall—fret myself abundantly, what end
To serve? There's left me twenty years to spend
As it may be—but also, as it may not be—
—How better than my old way? Had I one
Who labored to o'erthrow my work—a son
Hatching with Azzo superb treachery,
To root my pines up and then poison me,
Suppose—'t were worth while frustrate that! Beside,
Another life's ordained me: the world's tide