Imagination plays me most intolerable tricks.
To enumerate them all would be unbearably prolix.
Just a trifle bids them gather and a trifle bids them go.
And they tease me and torment me more than anyone can know.
Tricks of strange, disordered action, tricks of strange disordered thought.
Tricks of seeking explanations most unprofitably sought.
But my will is learning daily, when the creatures growl and leap,
That a stern voice and a stinging lash will drive them back to sleep.
