I’m striking out with my left leg. I’ll float, if only with their tips My fingers rest upon this ledge. But apropos: your body—— PEER. Hush! THE PASSENGER. The rest, of course, is done for, clean—— PEER. No more! THE PASSENGER. Exactly as you please. [_Silence._ PEER. Well? THE PASSENGER. I am silent. PEER. Satan’s tricks!— What now? THE PASSENGER. I’m waiting. PEER. [_Tearing his hair._] I’ll go mad!— What are you? THE PASSENGER. [_Nods._] Friendly. PEER. What else! Speak! THE PASSENGER. What think you? Do you know none other That’s like me? PEER. Do I know the devil——? THE PASSENGER. [_In a low voice._] Is it _his_ way to light a lantern For life’s night-pilgrimage through fear? PEER. Ah, come! When once the thing’s cleared up, You’d seem a messenger of light? THE PASSENGER. Friend,—have you _once_ in each half-year Felt all the earnestness of dread?[112] PEER. Why, one’s afraid when danger threatens;— But all your words have double meanings.[113] THE PASSENGER. Ay, have you gained but _once_ in life The victory that is given in dread? PEER. [_Looks at him._] Came you to ope for me a door, ’Twas stupid not to come before. What sort of sense is there in choosing Your time when seas gape to devour one? THE PASSENGER. Were, then, the victory more likely Beside your hearthstone, snug and quiet? PEER. Perhaps not; but your talk was quizzical. How could you fancy it awakening? THE PASSENGER. Where I come from, there smiles are prized As highly as pathetic style. PEER. All has its time; what fits the taxman,[114] So says the text, would damn the bishop. THE PASSENGER. The host whose dust inurned has slumbered Treads not on week-days the cothurnus. PEER.