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Make a beast of a man!

Nay, my son, you mistake; I make you a mannerly wooer, no more. A bright orange bow we'll allow you to wear, And that passes here for the highest of honours.

[Reflectively.]

It's true, as the saying goes: Man's but a mote. And it's wisest to follow the fashion a bit. Tie away!

You're a tractable fellow, I see.

Just try with what grace you can waggle and whisk it!

[Peevishly.]

Ha, would you force me to go still further? Do you ask me to give up my Christian faith?

No, that you are welcome to keep in peace. Doctrine goes free; upon that there's no duty; It's the outward cut one must tell a troll by. If we're only at one in our manners and dress, You may hold as your faith what to us is a horror.

Why, in spite of your many conditions, you are A more reasonable chap than one might have expected.