as I live.⸺My mother gave a groan.⸺Lend me your penknife⸺I must e’en cut the knots at last⸺pugh!⸺psha!—Lord! I have cut my thumb quite across to the very bone⸺curse the fellow—if there was not another man-midwife within fifty miles⸺I am undone for this bout—I wish the scoundrel hang’d—I wish he was shot⸺I wish all the devils in hell had him for a blockhead!⸻
My father had a great respect for Obadiah , and could not bear to hear him disposed of in such a manner—he had moreover some little respect for himself—and could as ill bear with the indignity offered to himself in it.
Had Dr. Slop cut any part about him, but his thumb⸺my father had pass’d it by—his prudence had triumphed: as it was, he was determined to have his revenge.
Small curses, Dr. Slop , upon great occasions, quoth my father (condoling with him first upon the accident), are but so much waste of our strength and soul’s health to no manner of purpose.—I own it, replied Dr. Slop .—They are like sparrow-shot, quoth my uncle Toby (suspending his whistling), fired against a bastion.⸺They serve, continued my father, to stir the humours⸺but carry off none of their acrimony:—for my own part, I seldom swear or curse at all—I hold it bad⸺but if I fall into it by surprise, I generally retain so much presence of mind (right, quoth my uncle Toby ) as to make it answer my purpose⸺that is, I swear on till I find myself easy. A wise and a just man however would always endeavour to proportion the vent given to these humours, not only to the degree of them stirring within himself—but to the size and ill intent of the offence upon which they are to fall.—“ Injuries come only from the heart ,”—quoth my uncle Toby . For this reason, continued my father, with the most Cervantick gravity, I have the greatest veneration in the world for that gentleman, who, in distrust of his own discretion in this point, sat down and composed (that