“Behold my wall of defence!”
Sir Silas.
“An thou art for walls, I have one for thee from Oxford, pithy and apposite, sound and solid, and trimmed up becomingly, as a collar of brawn with a crown of rosemary, or a boar’s head with a lemon in the mouth.”
William Shakspeare.
“Egad, Master Silas, those are your walls for lads to climb over, an they were higher than Babel’s.”
Sir Silas.
“Have at thee!”
“Thou art a wall
To make the ball
Rebound from.
“Thou hast a back
For beadle’s crack
To sound from, to sound from.
The foolishest dolts are the ground-plot of the most wit, as the idlest rogues are of the most industry. Even thou hast brought wit down from Oxford. And before a thief is hanged, parliament must make laws, attorneys must engross them, printers stamp and publish them, hawkers cry them, judges expound them, juries weigh and measure them with offences, then executioners carry them into effect. The farmer hath already sown the hemp, the ropemaker hath twisted it; sawyers saw the timber, carpenters tack together the shell, grave-diggers delve the earth. And all this truly for fellows like unto thee.”