How may we gain this woman for our lord? This pearl, this turquoise fastened in his crown Would make it shine like His we dare not name. Now that the winds are heavy with our kind, Might we not kill her, and bear off her spirit Before the mob of angels were astir? [_A diadem and a heap of jewels fall from the bag._ FIRST MERCHANT. Who tore the bag? SECOND MERCHANT. The finger of Priest John When he fled through the leather. I had thought Because his was an old and little spirit The tear would hardly matter. FIRST MERCHANT. This comes, brother, Of stealing souls that are not rightly ours. If we would win this turquoise for our lord, It must go dropping down of its freewill. She will have heard the noise. She will stifle us With holy names. [_He goes to the oratory door and opens it a little, and then closes it._] No, she has fallen asleep. SECOND MERCHANT. The noise wakened the household. While you spoke I heard chairs moved, and heard folk’s shuffling feet. And now they are coming hither. A VOICE [_within_]. It was here. ANOTHER VOICE. No, further away. ANOTHER VOICE. It was in the western tower. ANOTHER VOICE. Come quickly; we will search the western tower. FIRST MERCHANT. We still have time—they search the distant rooms. Call hither the fading and the unfading fires. SECOND MERCHANT. [_Going to the window._] There are none here. They tired and strayed from hence— Unwilling labourers. FIRST MERCHANT. I will draw them in. [_He cries through the window._ Come hither, you lost souls of men, who died In drunken sleep, and by each other’s hands When they had bartered you—come hither all Who mourn among the scenery of your sins, Turning to animal and reptile forms, The visages of passions; hither, hither— Leave marshes and the reed-encumbered pools, You shapeless fires, that were the souls of men, And are a fading wretchedness. SECOND MERCHANT. They come not. FIRST MERCHANT. [_Making a sign upon the air._] Come hither, hither, hither. SECOND MERCHANT. I can hear A crying as of storm-distempered reeds. The fading and the unfading fires rise up Like steam out of the earth; the grass and leaves Shiver and shrink away and sway about, Blown by unnatural gusts of ice-cold air. FIRST MERCHANT. They are one with all the beings of decay, Ill longings, madness, lightning, famine, drouth. [_The whole stage is gradually filled with vague forms, some animal shapes, some human, some mere lights._ Come you—and you—and you, and lift these bags. A SPIRIT. We are too violent; mere shapes of storm. FIRST MERCHANT. Come you—and you—and you, and lift these bags. A SPIRIT. We are too feeble, fading out of life.