My hand next morning shook, for value paid!
To that Italian saint, Sir Cosimo?—
Indignant at my wringing year by year
A thousand bezants from the coral divers,
As you recounted; felt the saint aggrieved
Well might he—I allowed for his half-share
Merely one hundred! To Sir ...
Loys. See! you dare
Inculpate the whole Order; yet should I,
A youth, a sole voice, have the power to change