LXXXVII.
Whereat some one of the loquacious Lot—
I think a Sufi pipkin—waxing hot—
“All this of Pot and Potter—Tell me then,
Who is the Potter, pray, and who the Pot?”
LXXXVIII.
“Why,” said another, “Some there are who tell
Of one who threatens he will toss to Hell
The luckless Pots he marr’d in making—Pish!
He’s a Good Fellow, and ’twill all be well.”