Dear also are the outfits of our wives,
And their huge trunks: but this is a sweet change!
For surely now our household hearths are cold,
Charwomen prowl thereby: our halls look strange,
Our suites are swathed like ghosts. Here all is joy,
And, by the stirless silence rendered bold,
The very gulls stand round with furléd wings.
What do you think of it, TOBY, my boy?
The Session's Bills are half-forgotten things.
Is there discussion in our little Isle?