FIFE. Send it so! And well provided for man, woman, and beast. No, not for beast. Ah, but my heart begins To yearn for her-- ROS. Keep close, and keep your feet From serving you as hers did. FIFE. As for beasts, If in default of other entertainment, We should provide them with ourselves to eat-- Bears, lions, wolves-- ROS. Oh, never fear. FIFE. Or else, Default of other beasts, beastlier men, Cannibals, Anthropophagi, bare Poles Who never knew a tailor but by taste. ROS. Look, look! Unless my fancy misconceive With twilight--down among the rocks there, Fife-- Some human dwelling, surely-- Or think you but a rock torn from the rocks In some convulsion like to-day's, and perch'd Quaintly among them in mock-masonry? FIFE. Most likely that, I doubt. ROS. No, no--for look! A square of darkness opening in it-- FIFE. Oh, I don't half like such openings!-- ROS. Like the loom Of night from which she spins her outer gloom-- FIFE. Lord, Madam, pray forbear this tragic vein In such a time and place-- ROS. And now again Within that square of darkness, look! a light That feels its way with hesitating pulse, As we do, through the darkness that it drives To blacken into deeper night beyond. FIFE. In which could we follow that light's example, As might some English Bardolph with his nose, We might defy the sunset--Hark, a chain! ROS. And now a lamp, a lamp! And now the hand That carries it. FIFE. Oh, Lord! that dreadful chain! ROS. And now the bearer of the lamp; indeed As strange as any in Arabian tale, So giant-like, and terrible, and grand, Spite of the skin he's wrapt in. FIFE. Why, 'tis his own: Oh, 'tis some wild man of the woods; I've heard They build and carry torches-- ROS. Never Ape Bore such a brow before the heavens as that-- Chain'd as you say too!-- FIFE. Oh, that dreadful chain! ROS. And now he sets the lamp down by his side, And with one hand clench'd in his tangled hair And with a sigh as if his heart would break-- (During this Segismund has entered from the fortress, with a torch.)