m, my father was all abuse and foul
language, approaching rather towards malediction--only he did not do
it with as much method as Ernulphus--he was too impetuous; nor with
Ernulphus's policy--for tho' my father, with the most intolerant spirit,
would curse both this and that, and every thing under heaven, which was
either aiding or abetting to his love--yet never concluded his chapter
of curses upon it, without cursing himself in at the bargain, as one of
the most egregious fools and cox-combs, he would say, that ever was let
loose in the world.

My uncle Toby, on the contrary, took it like a lamb--sat still and
let the poison work in his veins without resistance--in the sharpest
exacerbations of his wound (like that on his groin) he never dropt one
fretful or discontented word--he blamed neither heaven nor earth--or
thought or spoke an injurious thing of any body, or any part of it; he
sat solitary and pensive with his pipe--looking at his lame leg--then
whiffing out a sentimental heigh ho! which mixing with the smoke,
incommoded no one mortal.

He took it like a lamb--I say.

In truth he had mistook it at first; for having taken a ride with my
father, that very morning, to save if possible a beautiful wood, which
the dean and chapter were hewing down to give to the poor (Mr. Shandy
must mean the poor in spirit; inasmuch as they divided the money amongst
themselves.); which said wood being in full view of my uncle Toby's
house, and of singular service to him in his description of the battle
of Wynnendale--by trotting on too hastily to save it--upon an uneasy
saddle--worse horse, &c. &c...it had so happened, that the serous part
of the blood had got betwixt the two skins, in the nethermost part of
my uncle Toby--the first shootings of which (as my uncle Toby had no
experience of love) he had taken for a part of the passion--till the
blister breaking in the one case--and the other remaining--my uncle Toby
was presently convinced, that his wound was not a skin-deep wound--but
that it had gone to his heart.

Chapter 4.LI.

The world is ashamed of being virtuous--my uncle Toby knew little of the
world; and therefore when he felt he was in love with widow Wadman, he
had no conception that the thing was any more to be made a mystery of,
than if Mrs. Wadman had given him a cut with a gap'd knife across his
finger: Had it been otherwise--yet as he ever look'd upon Trim as a
humble friend; and saw fresh reasons every