Ay, and he swore ... or might it be Tom Paine? ...
Thumping the table close by where I crouched,
He 'd do me soon a mischief: that 's come true!
Why, now your face clears! I was sure it would!
Then, this one time ... don't take your hand away,
Through yours I surely kiss your mother's hand ...
You 'll promise to forgive me?—or, at least,
Tell nobody of this? Consider, sir!
What harm can mercy do? Would but the shade
Of the venerable dead-one just vouchsafe