_Di._ Interpret it I cannot, I but wrote it. _Sp._ Perhaps; but none that read can doubt it, There is a strong Strauss-smell about it. Heavens! at your years your time to fritter Upon a critical hair-splitter! Take larger views (and quit your Germans) From the Analogy and sermons; I fancied—you must doubtless know— Butler had proved an age ago, That in religious as profane things ’Twas useless trying to explain things; Men’s business-wits, the only sane things, These and compliance are the main things. God, Revelation, and the rest of it, Bad at the best, we make the best of it. Like a good subject and wise man, Believe whatever things you can. Take your religion as ’twas found you, And say no more of it, confound you! And now I think the rain has ended; And the less said, the soonest mended. SCENE II.—_In a Gondola._ _Sp._ _Per ora._ To the Grand Canal. Afterwards e’en as fancy shall. _Di._ Afloat; we move. Delicious! Ah, What else is like the gondola? This level floor of liquid glass Begins beneath us swift to pass. It goes as though it went alone By some impulsion of its own. (How light it moves, how softly! Ah, Were all things like the gondola!) How light it moves, how softly! Ah, Could life, as does our gondola, Unvexed with quarrels, aims, and cares, And moral duties and affairs, Unswaying, noiseless, swift and strong, For ever thus—thus glide along! (How light we move, how softly! Ah, Were life but as the gondola!) With no more motion than should bear A freshness to the languid air; With no more effort than exprest The need and naturalness of rest, Which we beneath a grateful shade Should take on peaceful pillows laid! (How light we move, how softly! Ah, Were life but as the gondola!) In one unbroken passage borne To closing night from opening morn, Uplift at whiles slow eyes to mark Some palace front, some passing bark; Through windows catch the varying shore, And hear the soft turns of the oar! (How light we move, how softly! Ah, Were life but as the gondola!) So live, nor need to call to mind Our slaving brother here behind! _Sp._ Pooh! Nature meant him for no better Than our most humble menial debtor: Who thanks us for his day’s employment As we our purse for our enjoyment. _Di._ To make one’s fellow-man an instrument—— _Sp._ Is just the thing that makes him most content. _Di._ Our gaieties, our luxuries, Our pleasures and our glee, Mere insolence and wantonness, Alas! they feel to me. How shall I laugh and sing and dance? My very heart recoils, While here to give my mirth a chance A hungry brother toils. The joy that does not spring from joy Which I in others see, How can I venture to employ, Or find it joy for me?