This you can’t sacrifice, your leisure’s precious. Heartily you will not take to anything; Whatever happen, don’t I see you still, Living no life at all? Even as now An o’ergrown baby, sucking at the dugs Of instinct, dry long since. Come, come, you are old enough For spoon-meat surely. Will you go on thus Until death end you? if indeed it does. For what it does, none knows. Yet as for you, You’ll hardly have the courage to die outright; You’ll somehow halve even it. Methinks I see you, Through everlasting limbos of void time, Twirling and twiddling ineffectively, And indeterminately swaying for ever. Come, come, spoon-meat at any rate. Well, well, I will not persecute you more, my friend. Only do think, as I observed before, What can you do, if I should go away? _Di._ Is the hour here, then? Is the minute come— The irreprievable instant of stern time? O for a few, few grains in the running glass, Or for some power to hold them! O for a few Of all that went so wastefully before! It must be then, e’en now. _Sp._ (_from within._) It must, it must. ’Tis common sense! and human wit Can claim no higher name than it. Submit, submit! Necessity! and who shall dare Bring to _her_ feet excuse or prayer? Beware, beware! We must, we must. Howe’er we turn, and pause and tremble— Howe’er we shrink, deceive, dissemble— Whate’er our doubting, grief, disgust, The hand is on us, and we must, We must, we must. ’Tis common sense! and human wit Can find no better name than Submit, submit! SCENE VII.—_At Torcello._ _Dipsychus alone._ _Di._ I had a vision; was it in my sleep? And if it were, what then? But sleep or wake, I saw a great light open o’er my head; And sleep or wake, uplifted to that light, Out of that light proceeding heard a voice Uttering high words, which, whether sleep or wake, In me were fixed, and in me must abide. When the enemy is near thee, Call on us! In our hands we will upbear thee, He shall neither scathe nor scare thee, He shall fly thee, and shall fear thee. Call on us! Call when all good friends have left thee, Of all good sights and sounds bereft thee; Call when hope and heart are sinking, And the brain is sick with thinking, Help, O help! Call, and following close behind thee There shall haste, and there shall find thee, Help, sure help. When the panic comes upon thee, When necessity seems on thee, Hope and choice have all foregone thee, Fate and force are closing o’er thee, And but one way stands before thee— Call on us! Oh, and if thou dost not call, Be but faithful, that is all. Go right on, and close behind thee There shall follow still and find thee, Help, sure help. SCENE VIII.—_In the Piazza._