CLO. So sleep; sleep fast: and sleep away those two Night-potions, and the waking dream between Which dream thou must believe; and, if to see Again, poor Segismund! that dream must be.-- And yet, and yet, in these our ghostly lives, Half night, half day, half sleeping, half awake, How if our waking life, like that of sleep, Be all a dream in that eternal life To which we wake not till we sleep in death? How if, I say, the senses we now trust For date of sensible comparison,-- Ay, ev'n the Reason's self that dates with them, Should be in essence or intensity Hereafter so transcended, and awake To a perceptive subtlety so keen As to confess themselves befool'd before, In all that now they will avouch for most? One man--like this--but only so much longer As life is longer than a summer's day, Believed himself a king upon his throne, And play'd at hazard with his fellows' lives, Who cheaply dream'd away their lives to him. The sailor dream'd of tossing on the flood: The soldier of his laurels grown in blood: The lover of the beauty that he knew Must yet dissolve to dusty residue: The merchant and the miser of his bags Of finger'd gold; the beggar of his rags: And all this stage of earth on which we seem Such busy actors, and the parts we play'd, Substantial as the shadow of a shade, And Dreaming but a dream within a dream! FIFE. Was it not said, sir, By some philosopher as yet unborn, That any chimney-sweep who for twelve hours Dreams himself king is happy as the king Who dreams himself twelve hours a chimney-sweep? CLO. A theme indeed for wiser heads than yours To moralize upon--How came you here?-- FIFE. Not of my own will, I assure you, sir. No matter for myself: but I would know About my mistress--I mean, master-- CLO. Oh, Now I remember--Well, your master-mistress Is well, and deftly on its errand speeds, As you shall--if you can but hold your tongue. Can you? FIFE. I'd rather be at home again. CLO. Where you shall be the quicker if while here You can keep silence. FIFE. I may whistle, then? Which by the virtue of my name I do, And also as a reasonable test Of waking sanity-- CLO. Well, whistle then; And for another reason you forgot, That while you whistle, you can chatter not. Only remember--if you quit this pass-- FIFE. (His rhymes are out, or he had call'd it spot)-- CLO. A bullet brings you to. I must forthwith to court to tell the King The issue of this lamentable day, That buries all his hope in night. (To FIFE.) Farewell. Remember. FIFE. But a moment--but a word! When shall I see my mis--mas--