Play to the tender stops, though cheerily: Gently, my soul, my song: let no one hear: Sing to thyself alone; thine ecstasy Rising in silence to the inward ear That is attuned to silence: do not tell A friend, a bird, a star, lest they should say-- _He danced in woods and meadows all the day, Waving his arms, and cried as evening fell, 'O, do not come,' and cried, 'O, come, thou queen, And walk with me unwatched upon the green Under the sky.'_ DEIRDRE Do not let any woman read this verse; It is for men, and after them their sons And their sons' sons. The time comes when our hearts sink utterly; When we remember Deirdre and her tale, And that her lips are dust. Once she did tread the earth: men took her hand;. They looked into her eyes and said their say, And she replied to them. More than a thousand years it is since she Was beautiful: she trod the waving grass; She saw the clouds. A thousand years! The grass is still the same, The clouds as lovely as they were that time When Deirdre was alive. But there has never been a woman born Who was so beautiful, not one so beautiful Of all the women born. Let all men go apart and mourn together; No man can ever love her; not a man Can ever be her lover. No man can bend before her: no man say-- What could one say to her? There are no words That one could say to her! Now she is but a story that is told Beside the fire! No man can ever be The friend of that poor queen. * * * * * LASCELLES ABERCROMBIE THE END OF THE WORLD PERSONS HUFF, the Farmer. SOLLERS, the Wainwright. MERRICK, the Smith. VINE, the Publican. SHALE, the Labourer. A DOWSER. MRS HUFF. WARP, the Molecatcher. Men and Women of the Village.' ACT I [Scene: A public-house kitchen. HUFF the Farmer and SOLLERS the Wainwright talking; another man, a stranger, sitting silent.] Huff: Ay, you may think we're well off-- Sollers: Now for croaks, Old toad! who's trodden on you now?--Go on; But if you can, croak us a new tune. Huff: Ay, You think you're well off--and don't grab my words Before they're spoken--but some folks, I've heard, Pity us, living quiet in the valley. Sollers: Well, I suppose 'tis their affair. Huff: Is it? But what I mean to say,--if they think small Of us that live in the valley, mayn't it show That we aren't all so happy as we think? [MERRICK the Smith comes in.] Merrick: Quick, cider! I believe I've swallowed a coal. Sollers: Good evening. True, the heat's a wonder to-night. [Smith draws himself cider.] Huff: Haven't you brought your flute? We've all got room For music in our minds to-night, I'll swear. Working all day in the sun do seem to push The thought out of your brain. Sollers: