Page:The life and opinions of Tristram Shandy (Volume 8).pdf/121

 Toby of his repose, as the very eye, at which he was lookingit was not, Madam, a rolling eyea romping or a wanton one—nor was it an eye sparkling—petulant or imperious—of high claims and terrifying exactions, which would have curdled at once that milk of human nature, of which my uncle Toby was made upbut 'twas an eye full of gentle salutationsand soft responsesspeakingnot like the trumpet stop of some ill-made organ, in which many an eye I talk to, holds coarse conversebut whispering softlike the last low accents of an expiring saint"How can you live comfortless, captain Shandy, and alone, without a bosom to lean your head onor trust your cares to?"