_Par._ Stop, o' God's name: the thing's by no means yet Past remedy! Shall I read this morning's labor --At least in substance? Naught so worth the gaining As an apt scholar! Thus then, with all due Precision and emphasis--you, beside, are clearly Guiltless of understanding more, a whit, The subject than your stool--allowed to be A notable advantage. _Fest._ Surely, Aureole, You laugh at me! _Par._ I laugh? Ha, ha! thank heaven, I charge you, if 't be so! for I forget Much, and what laughter should be like. No less, However, I forego that luxury Since it alarms the friend who brings it back. True, laughter like my own must echo strangely To thinking men; a smile were better far; So, make me smile! If the exulting look You wore but now be smiling, 't is so long Since I have smiled! Alas, such smiles are born Alone of hearts like yours, or herdsmen's souls Of ancient time, whose eyes, calm as their flocks, Saw in the stars mere garnishry of heaven, And in the earth a stage for altars only. Never change, Festus: I say, never change! _Fest._ My God, if he be wretched after all! _Par._ When last we parted, Festus, you declared, --Or Michal, yes, her soft lips whispered words I have preserved. She told me she believed I should succeed (meaning, that in the search I then engaged in, I should meet success) And yet be wretched: now, she augured false. _Fest._ Thank heaven! but you spoke strangely: could I venture To think bare apprehension lest your friend, Dazzled by your resplendent course, might find Henceforth less sweetness in his own, could move Such earnest mood in you? Fear not, dear friend, That I shall leave you, inwardly repining Your lot was not my own!