_Lincoln_: It is a policy of faith--it is a policy of compassion. _(Warmly_.) Hook, why do you plague me with these jealousies? Once before I found a member of my Cabinet working behind my back. But he was disinterested, and he made amends nobly. But, Hook, you have allowed the burden of these days to sour you. I know it all. I've watched you plotting and plotting for authority. And I, who am a lonely man, have been sick at heart. So great is the task God has given to my hand, and so few are my days, and my deepest hunger is always for loyalty in my own house. You have withheld it from me. You have done great service in your office, but you have grown envious. Now you resign, as you did once before when I came openly to you in friendship. And you think that again I shall flatter you and coax you to stay. I don't think I ought to do it. I will not do it. I must take you at your word. _Hook_: I am content. _He turns to go_. _Lincoln_: Will you shake hands? _Hook_: I beg you will excuse me. _He goes_. LINCOLN _stands silently for a moment, a travelled, lonely captain. He rings a bell, and a_ CLERK _comes in. Lincoln:_ Ask Mr. Hay to come in. _Clerk_: Yes, sir. _He goes_. LINCOLN, _from the folds of his pockets, produces another book, and holds it unopened_. HAY _comes in_. _Lincoln_: I'm rather tired to-day, Hay. Read to me a little. (_He hands him the book_.) "The Tempest"--you know the passage. _Hay (reading)_: Our revels now are ended; these our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits, and Are melted into air, into thin air; And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep. _Lincoln_: We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life ... THE CURTAIN FALLS. _First Chronicler_: Two years again. Desolation of battle, and long debate, Counsels and prayers of men, And bitterness of destruction and witless hate, And the shame of lie contending with lie, Are spending themselves, and the brain That set its lonely chart four years gone by, Knowing the word fulfilled, Comes with charity and communion to bring To reckoning, To reconcile and build. _The two together_: What victor coming from the field Leaving the victim desolate, But has a vulnerable shield Against the substances of fate? That battle's won that leads in chains But retribution and despite, And bids misfortune count her gains Not stricken in a penal night. His triumph is but bitterness Who looks not to the starry doom When proud and humble but possess The little kingdom of the tomb. Who, striking home, shall not forgive, Strikes with a weak returning rod, Claiming a fond prerogative Against the armoury of God.