_Sp._ O yes. To moon about religion; to inhume Your ripened age in solitary walks, For self-discussion; to debate in letters Vext points with earnest friends; past other men To cherish natural instincts, yet to fear them And less than any use them; oh, no doubt, In a corner sit and mope, and be consoled With thinking one is clever, while the room Rings through with animation and the dance. Then talk of old examples; to pervert Ancient real facts to modern unreal dreams And build up baseless fabrics of romance And heroism upon historic sand; To burn, forsooth, for action, yet despise Its merest accidence and alphabet; Cry out for service, and at once rebel At the application of its plainest rules: This you call life, my friend, reality; Doing your duty unto God and man— I know not what. Stay at Venice, if you will; Sit musing in its churches hour on hour Cross-kneed upon a bench; climb up at whiles The neighbouring tower, and kill the lingering day With old comparisons; when night succeeds, Evading, yet a little seeking, what You would and would not, turn your doubtful eyes On moon and stars to help morality; Once in a fortnight say, by lucky chance Of happier-tempered coffee, gain (great Heaven!) A pious rapture: is it not enough? _Di._ ’Tis well: thou cursed spirit, go thy way! I am in higher hands than yours. ’Tis well; Who taught you menaces? Who told you, pray, Because I asked you questions, and made show Of hearing what you answered, therefore—— _Sp._ Oh, As if I didn’t know! _Di._ Come, come, my friend, I may have wavered, but I have thought better. We’ll say no more of it. _Sp._ Oh, I dare say: But as you like; ’tis your own loss; once more, Beware! _Di._ (_alone._) Must it be then? So quick upon my thought To follow the fulfilment and the deed? I counted not on this; I counted ever To hold and turn it over in my hands Much longer, much: I took it up indeed, For speculation rather; to gain thought, New data. Oh, and now to be goaded on By menaces, entangled among tricks; That I won’t suffer. Yet it is the law; ’Tis this makes action always. But for this We ne’er should act at all; and act we must. Why quarrel with the fashion of a fact Which, one way, must be, one time, why not now? _Sp._ Submit, submit! For tell me then, in earth’s great laws Have you found any saving clause, Exemption special granted you From doing what the rest must do? Of common sense who made you quit, And told you, you’d no need of it, Nor to submit?