THE NEWLY BORN. How could anyone ever get tired of life? ACIS. They do. That is, of the same life. They manage to change themselves in a wonderful way. You meet them sometimes with a lot of extra heads and arms and legs: they make you split laughing at them. Most of them have forgotten how to speak: the ones that attend to us have to brush up their knowledge of the language once a year or so. Nothing makes any difference to them that I can see. They never enjoy themselves. I don't know how they can stand it. They don't even come to our festivals of the arts. That old one who saw you out of your shell has gone off to moodle about doing nothing; though she knows that this is Festival Day? THE NEWLY BORN. What is Festival Day? ACIS. Two of our greatest sculptors are bringing us their latest masterpieces; and we are going to crown them with flowers and sing dithyrambs to them and dance round them. THE NEWLY BORN. How jolly! What is a sculptor? ACIS. Listen here, young one. You must find out things for yourself, and not ask questions. For the first day or two you must keep your eyes and ears open and your mouth shut. Children should be seen and not heard. THE NEWLY BORN. Who are you calling a child? I am fully a quarter of an hour old [_She sits down on the curved bench near Strephon with her maturest air_]. VOICES IN THE TEMPLE [_all expressing protest, disappointment, disgust_] Oh! Oh! Scandalous. Shameful. Disgraceful. What filth! Is this a joke? Why, theyre ancients! Ss-s-s-sss! Are you mad, Arjillax? This is an outrage. An insult. Yah! etc. etc. etc. [_The malcontents appear on the steps, grumbling_]. ACIS. Hullo: whats the matter? [_He goes to the steps of the temple_]. _The two sculptors issue from the temple. One has a beard two feet long: the other is beardless. Between them comes a handsome nymph with marked features, dark hair richly waved, and authoritative bearing._ THE AUTHORITATIVE NYMPH [_swooping down to the centre of the glade with the sculptors, between Acis and the Newly Born_] Do not try to browbeat me, Arjillax, merely because you are clever with your hands. Can you play the flute? ARJILLAX [_the bearded sculptor on her right_] No, Ecrasia: I cannot. What has that to do with it? [_He is half derisive, half impatient, wholly resolved not to take her seriously in spite of her beauty and imposing tone_]. ECRASIA. Well, have you ever hesitated to criticize our best flute players, and to declare whether their music is good or bad? Pray have I not the same right to criticize your busts, though I cannot make images anymore than you can play?