st thou, thy finger on it
Put and say 'tis here? Alas, it like a
Heavenly orb doth shoot its comet way
An then twere gone. It was, but now 'tis not!
Hence it were folly, "Nothing," to pursue.
_Quezox:_ They keen philosophy falls on mine ear
Like music, as it trickles from thy brain;
But still the wound remains which venomed tongue
Hath deeply stung upon my memory.
But thou hast said: an uttered thought is dead.
Perhaps 'tis so, but in the human heart,
There lingers long a mem'ry, blessed indeed,
Of those preceding us to that long home
Where, be it utter darkness which prevails,
Or light supernal with celestial ray,
Yet death hath not erased from mental scroll
The image which th' Eternal painted there.
_(Enters Halstrom):_ The twain are gone, my Liege, but to the page
They for manana did bespeak return.
_Francos:_ Tis well!
Good gentlemen, my mind doth backward flit
On wings of happy mem'ry to that hour
When we, amid the plaudits of the hosts,
Did well proclaim to all the happy words
Which Caesar to expectant ears did send.
My heart doth overflow, when I recall
The ecstasy that spoke in thunder tones
And like to period rhetorical
Did ever punctuate each proper pause.
Quick did I note in what well ordered ranks
Our party friends did form before the stand.
_Quezox:_ But, noble Sire, methought I in each eye
Discovered greedy looks which portend ill.
_(Enters Seldonskip)_
Unless their hungry hopes are satisfied
By wellfilled bellies of official food.
If this discernment doth not truth belie
It points prophetic to a scramble sharp
To wear the cast off shoes of those who now
Do suck the life blood from our downtrod race.
_Seldonskip:_ You bet they'll scramble and they'll scramble hard,
An why not tell me? 'Tis all in the game!
_(Francos to Seldonskip):_ Again that tongue, in thoughtless prattle wags.
It seems that every opening of thy mouth,
Doth point to utterance in words uncouth
Which clothe some folly in a tattered garb.
_(Quezox to Francos):_ And yet most noble sire, my bowels of