“So heathen thought!” devote Arthur. “When brick-bat smite left cheek, right cheek is then presentable for more.”
To such talk I am only able to speak of rats. Arthur forgive such politeness and read me poetical thought, because sickness prevent escape:
ADDRESS TO PEACE DOVE WHAT RESIDE IN HATS OF ALL EMPERORS
Tell us to know, feeble sparrow-bird of quiet politics,
Why is?
Yes, you are equally white as snow, and yet snow frequently catches it from gunpowder.
What has occurred to your appearance?
What has become of thy tail-feathers, wing-feathers, pin-feathers?
Where is the hair upon thy back and also
Where has thy left eye went?