Captain: A palace made of souls;-- Ay, there's a folly for a man to dream! He saw a palace covering all the land, Big as the day itself, made of a stone That answered with a better gleam than glass To the sun's greeting, fashioned like the sound Of laughter copied into shining shape: So the king said. And with him in the dream There was a voice that fleered upon the king: 'This is the man who makes much of himself For filling the common eyes with palaces Gorgeously bragging out his royalty: Whereas he hath not one that seemeth not In work, in height, in posture on the ground, A hut, a peasant's dingy shed, to mine. And all his excellent woods, metals, and stones, The things he's filched out of the earth's old pockets And hoised up into walls and domes; the gold, Ebony, agate stairs, wainscots of jade, The windows of jargoon, and heavenly lofts Of marble, all the stuff he takes to be wealth, Reckons like savage mud and wattle against The matter of my building.'--And the king, Gloating upon the white sheen of that palace, And weeping like a girl ashamed, inquired 'What is that stone?' And the voice answered him, 'Soul.' 'But in my palaces too,' said he, 'There should be soul built: I have driven nations, What with quarrying, what with craning, down To death, and sure their souls stay in my work.' And 'Mud and wattle' sneered the voice again; But added, 'In the west there is a man, A slave, a carpenter, whose heart has been Apprenticed to the skill that built my reign, This beauty; and were he master of your gangs, He'ld build you a palace that would look like mine.'-- So now no ship may sail from India, Since the king's scornful dream, unless it bring A carpenter among its homeward lading: And carpenters are getting hard to find. Thomas: And have none made for the king his desire? Captain: Many have tried, with roasting living men In queer huge kilns, and other sleights, to found A glass of human souls; and others seek With marvellous stone to please our desperate king. Always at last their own tormented bodies Delight the cruelty of the king's heart. Thomas: Well then, I hope you'll find your carpenter, And soon. I would not that we wait too long; I loathe a dallying journey.--I should suppose We'ld have good sailing at this season, now? Captain: Why, you were looking, a few minutes gone, For rare wild storms: I hope we'll have them too; I want to see you work that talisman You boast about: I've a great love for spells. Thomas: