ecause we must._

Dada, come on. Let us go.

_Watchman_

No, no, Sir. Don't you get yourself into mischief in their
company.

_Ferryman_

You read your verses, Sir, to us. Our neighbours will be here
soon. They will be greatly profited.

_Dada_

No. I'm not going to move a step from here.

Then let us move. The men in the street can't bear us.

That's because we rattle them too much.

You hear the hum of human bees, they smell the honey of Dada's
quatrains.

_Youths_

[_Together._] They come! They come!

(_Enter Village folk._)

_Villager_

Is it true that there is going to be a reading?

Who are you? Are _you_ going to read?

No. We commit all kinds of atrocities, but not that. This one
merit will bring us salvation.

_Villager_

What do they say? They seem to be talking in riddles.

_Chandra_

We only say things which we perfectly understand ourselves, and
they are riddles to you. Dada repeats to you things which you
understand perfectly and these sound to you the very essence of
wisdom.

(_Boy enters._)

_Boy_

I couldn't catch him.

Whom?

_Boy_

The Old Man, whom you are seeking.

Have you seen him?

_Boy_

Yes, I thought I saw him going by in a car.

Where? In what direction?

_Boy_

I couldn't make out exactly. The dust raised by his wheels is
still whirling in the air.

Then let us go.

He has filled the sky with dead leaves.

[_They go out._

_Watchman_

They are mad! Quite mad! Raving mad!

ACT III

SONG-PRELUDE

[_Winter is being unmasked--his hidden youth about to be
disclosed._]

_The rear stage lighted up, disclosing Winter and the Heralds of
Spring._

SONG OF THE HERALDS OF SPRING

_How grave he looks, how laughably old,
How solemnly quiet among death preparations!
Come, friends, help him to find himself before he reaches home.
Change his pilgrim's robe into the dress of the singing youth,
Snatch away his bag of dead things
And confound his calculations._

(_Another group sings._)

_The time comes when the world shall know that you're not banished in
your own shadows;
Your heart shall burst in torrents
Out of the clasp of the ice;
And your North wind turn its face
Against the haunts of the flitting phantoms.
There sounds the magician's drum,
And the sun waits with laughter in his glance,
To see your grey turn into green._

(_Evening_)

[_The r