[_Exeunt the Peasantry, singing_.

FRAGMENT OF THE THIRD PART OF _THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED_.

_Chorus_.

When the merry bells are ringing,
And the peasant girls are singing,
And the early flowers are flinging
Their odours in the air;
And the honey bee is clinging
To the buds; and birds are winging
Their way, pair by pair:
Then the earth looks free from trouble
With the brightness of a bubble:
Though I did not make it, 10
I could breathe on and break it;
But too much I scorn it,
Or else I would mourn it,
To see despots and slaves
Playing o'er their own graves.

_Enter_ COUNT ARNOLD.

{_Mem._ Jealous--Arnold of Caesar.
{Olympia at first not liking Caesar
{--then?--Arnold jealous of himself
{under his former figure, owing to
{the power of intellect, etc., etc., etc.

_Arnold_. You are merry, Sir--what? singing too?

_Caesar_. It is
The land of Song--and Canticles you know
Were once my avocation.

_Arn._ Nothing moves you;
You scoff even at your own calamity--
And such calamity! how wert thou fallen 20
Son of the Morning! and yet Lucifer
Can smile.

_Caes._ His shape can--would you have me weep,
In the fair form I wear, to please you?

_Arn._ Ah!

_Caes._ You are grave--what have you on your spirit!

_Arn._ Nothing.

_Caes._ How mortals lie by instinct! If you ask
A disappointed courtier--What's the matter?
"Nothing"--an outshone Beauty what has made
Her smooth brow crisp--"Oh, Nothing!"--a young heir
When his Sire has recovered from the Gout,
What ails him? "Nothing!" or a Monarch who 30
Has heard the truth, and looks imperial on it--
What clouds his royal aspect? "Nothing," "Nothing!"
Nothing--eternal nothing--of these nothings
All are a lie--for all to them are much!
And they themselves alone the real "Nothings."
Your present Nothing, too, is something to you--
What is it?

_Arn._ Know you not?

_Caes._ I only know
What I d