Madness! You're not far out.--I came up here To be alone and quiet in my thoughts, Alone in my own dreadful mind. The path, Of red sand trodden hard, went up between High hedges overgrown of hawthorn blowing White as clouds; ay it seemed burrowed through A white sweet-smelling cloud,--I walking there Small as a hare that runs its tunnelled drove Thro' the close heather. And beside my feet Blue greygles drifted gleaming over the grass; And up I climbed to sunlight green in birches, And the path turned to daisies among grass With bonfires of the broom beside, like flame Of burning straw: and I lookt into your valley. I could scarce look. Anger was smarting in my eyes like grit. O the fine earth and fine all for nothing! Mazed I walkt, seeing and smelling and hearing: The meadow lands all shining fearfully gold,-- Cruel as fire the sight of them toucht my mind; Breathing was all a honey taste of clover And bean flowers: I would have rather had it Carrion, or the stink of smouldering brimstone. And larks aloft, the happy piping fools, And squealing swifts that slid on hissing wings, And yellowhammers playing spry in hedges. I never noted them before; but now-- Yes, I was mad, and crying mad, to see The earth so fine, fine all for nothing! Sollers (spits): Pst! yellowhammers! He talks gentry talk. That's worse than being mad. Stranger: I tell you, you'll be feeling them to-morn And hating them to be so wonderful. Merrick: Let's have some sense. Where do you live? Stranger: Nowhere. I'm always travelling. Huff: Why, what's your trade? Stranger: A dowser. Huff: You're the man for me! Stranger: Not I. Huff: Ho, this is better than a fiddler now! One of those fellows who have nerves so clever That they can feel the waters of underground Tingling in their fingers. You find me a spring in my high grazing-field, I'll give you what I save in trundling water. Stranger: I find you water now!---No, but I'll find you Fire and fear and unbelievable death. [VINE the Publican comes in.] Vine: Are ye all served? Ay, seems so; what's your score? Merrick: Two ciders. Huff: Three. Sollers: And two for me. Vine (to Dowser): And you? Dowser: Naught. I was waiting on you. Vine: Will you drink? Dowser: Ay! Drink! what else is left for a man to do Who knows what I know? Vine: Good. What is't you know? You tell it out and set my trade a-buzzing. Sollers: He's queer. Give him his mug and ease his tongue. Vine: I had to swill the pigs: else I'd been here; But we've the old fashion in this house; you draw, I keep the score. Well, what's the worry on you? Sollers: Oh he's in love. Dowser: You fleering grinning louts, I'll give it you now; now have it in your faces! Sollers: Crimini, he's going to fight! Dowser: