That will do—you may stop.
NORTH.
I ask no man's permission—I obey no man's mandate—to stop. Now Virgil takes wing—now he blazes and soars. Now comes the power and spirit of the Storm gathered in the Person of the Sire—of him who wields the thunderbolt into which the Cyclops have forged storms of all sorts—wind and rain together—"Tres Imbri torti radios!" &c. You remember the magnificent mixture. And there we have Virgilius versus Homerum.
BULLER.
You may sit down, sir.
NORTH.
I did not know I had stood up. Beg pardon.
BULLER.
I am putting Swing to rights for you, Sir.
NORTH.