Chapter XL

In which, as in a gallery, this mouse Walked, and surveyed the rooms of this vast house, And to the brain, the Soul's bed-chamber, went, And gnawed the life-cords there: like a whole town Clean undermined, the slain beast tumbled down: With him the murderer dies, whom envy sent To kill, not 'scape, (for only he that meant To die did ever kill a man of better room,) And thus he made his foe his prey and tomb: Who cares not to turn back may any whither come.