Let us weigh the promises of the one and of the other in the balance of truth, and we shall finde that the promises of God are gold, and the promises of the devil are Alchimy, such which though they glitter much, have no worth or excellency in them. […] God’s, are substantial realities, and his, vanishing and fleeting shadows windy and swollen bladders, which but a little prickt, do quickly fall and grow lank.

“Oh, but I feel, and particularly just now—it’s your fault,” he said, pressing her hand—“that all that doesn’t count. I do it in a way halfheartedly. If I could care for all that as I care for you!... Instead of that, I do it in these days like a task that is set me.”

their waved coats dropped with gold

Yule soon became so accustomed to the din as to be undisturbed by the noise, but the unpunctuality and carelessness of the native workmen sorely tried his patience, of which Nature had endowed him with but a small reserve.