No matter. Read its columns with good heed, You’ll see me offered up to Vengeance. FALK [_whimsically_]. Nay, To retribution—well-earned punishment. Thro’ all our life there runs a Nemesis, Which may delay, but never will relent, And grants to none exception or release. Who wrongs the Ideal? Straight there rushes in The Press, its guardian with the Argus eye, And the offender suffers for his sin. STRAWMAN. But in the name of heaven, what pledge have I Given this “Ideal” that’s ever on your tongue? I’m married, have a family, twelve young And helpless innocents to clothe and keep; I have my daily calls on every side, Churches remote and glebe and pasture wide, Great herds of breeding cattle, ghostly sheep— All to be watched and cared for, clipt and fed, Grain to be winnowed, compost to be spread;— Wanted all day in shippon and in stall, What time have _I_ to serve the “Ideal” withal? FALK. Then get you home with what dispatch you may, Creep snugly in before the winter-cold; Look, in young Norway dawns at last the day, Thousand brave hearts are in its ranks enroll’d, Its banners in the morning breezes play! STRAWMAN. And if, young man, I were to take my way With bag and baggage home, with everything That made me yesterday a little king, Were mine the only _volte face_ to-day? Think you I carry back the wealth I brought? [_As FALK is about to answer._ Nay, listen, let me first explain my thought. [_Coming nearer._ Time was when I was young, like you, and played Like you, the unconquerable Titan’s part; Year after year I toiled and moiled for bread, Which hardens a man’s hand, but not his heart. For northern fells my lonely home surrounded, And by my parish bounds my world was bounded. My home—Ah, Falk, I wonder, do you know What home is? FALK [_curtly_]. I have never known. STRAWMAN.