Many heavy blows has this patient person's back received,
These many years.
He has lost friends and money;
He has lost his own country;
His well-framed enterprises have gone awry.
And his heart has gone hungry these many years for love.
All these things he has suffered without murmur.
One thing alone has driven him to utter piercing cries,
And make gestures expressive of volcano in eruption:
And that is the bootmender across the road
Who sings hymns to himself in the evening.
For that is true that the sage has spoken:
That it is the smell of gin-and-onions about the secretary
Which drives his master, who long has suffered gin-and-cloves,
To the breaking-point of inexpressible exasperation.