I always think that it must be my own;
That cunning stitchery of herring-bone,
How great a marvel! I am on the rack!
I shall do something desperate,—good lack!
And will not—cannot understand
I must restore it to your hand—
Oh! how I long for it, without a doubt!
Oh! Master Anthony, if you knew how
To set about it, you a faction-chief
Might be. Look at me in this doublet now,—