My teeth, that bite my very heart, to think—
To know I might have made that woman mine
But for the folly of the coward—know—
Or what's the good of my apprenticeship
This twelvemonth to a master in the art?
Mine—had she been mine—just one moment mine
For honor, for dishonor—anyhow,
So that my life, instead of stagnant ... Well,
You've poked and proved stagnation is not sleep—
Hang you!"