And how spirits in the images of birds
Crowd in the branches of old Adam’s crab-tree;
They come before me now and dig in the fruit
With so much gluttony, and are so drunk
With that harsh, wholesome savour that their feathers
Are clinging one to another with the juice.
But you would take me to some friendly place,
And I would go there quickly.
Fedelm.
Come with me.