Chapter 256 of 266 · 66 words · ~1 min read

XXII.

"Of all the useless beings in creation The earth could spare most easily you bakers Of little clay gods, formed in shape and fashion Precisely in the image of their makers; Why, it would almost move a saint to passion, To see these blind and deaf, the hourly breakers Of God's own image in their brother men, Set themselves up to tell the how, where, when,