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nydus/The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, GentlemanPublic

A man describes his birth and upbringing through the adventures of his family.

Page 158 of 810
Table of Contents

XII

otherwise the double tenaille⁠—By the mother who bore us!⁠⸺⁠brother Toby , quoth my father, not able to hold out any longer,⁠⸺⁠you would provoke a saint;⁠⸺⁠here have you got us, I know not how, not only souse into the middle of the old subject again:⁠—But so full is your head of these confounded works, that though my wife is this moment in the pains of labour, and you hear her cry out, yet nothing will serve you but to carry off the man-midwife.⁠⸺⁠ Accoucheur ,⁠—if you please, quoth Dr. Slop .⁠⸺⁠With all my heart, replied my father, I don’t care what they call you,⁠—but I wish the whole science of fortification, with all its inventors, at the devil;⁠—it has been the death of thousands,⁠—and it will be mine in the end,⁠—I would not, I would not, brother Toby , have my brains so full of saps, mines, blinds, gabions, pallisadoes, ravelins, half-moons, and such trumpery, to be proprietor of Namur , and of all the towns in Flanders with it.

My uncle Toby was a man patient of injuries;⁠—not from want of courage,⁠—I have told you in a former chapter, “that he was a man of courage:”⁠—And will add here, that where just occasions presented, or called it forth,⁠—I know no man under whose arm I would have sooner taken shelter;⁠⸺⁠nor did this arise from any insensibility or obtuseness of his intellectual parts;⁠—for he felt this insult of my father’s as feelingly as a man could do;⁠—but he was of a peaceful, placid nature,⁠—no jarring element in it,⁠—all was mixed up so kindly within him; my uncle Toby had scarce a heart to retaliate upon a fly.

—Go⁠—says he, one day at dinner, to an overgrown one which had buzzed about his nose, and tormented him cruelly all dinnertime,⁠—and which after infinite attempts, he had caught at last, as it flew by him;⁠—I’ll not hurt thee, says my uncle Toby , rising from his chair, and going across the room, with the fly in his hand,⁠⸺⁠I’ll not hurt a hair of thy head:⁠—Go, says he, lifting up the sash, and opening his hand as he spoke, to let it escape;⁠—go, poor devil, get thee gone, why should I hurt thee?⁠⸺⁠This world surely is wide enough to hold both thee and me.

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