THE BUM (straightening up and leering). Who’s vile? What’s vile? (He thinks to become obstreperous but recalling his nothingness grins contemptuously). You think you’re still a monk, don’cha? You think you’re good—better’n anybody else. Whatcha got to be good about? Oh ho, ho, ho, ho! Ah har, har, har, har! He thinks he’s still a monk— FIRST EGYPTIAN (to the monk sympathetically). Come away, friend. Leave him to his illusions. SECOND EGYPTIAN. Time alone can point out the folly of his mood. THE MINISTER OF ST. GILES (drawing near and scowling at the Bum). Out, sot. THE BUM (defiantly and yet indifferently). Who’s a sot? An’ where’s out? Oh, ho, ho, ho, ho! THE ORGANIST (passing into the finale). And this is even more beautiful. It suggests graves and shrines—and fawns dancing. But I don’t propose to play long for four people. (A troup of fawns and nymphs dance in, pursuing and eluding each other. The six Hama-dryads return, weaving and turning in diaphanous line. A passing cloud of hags and wastrels, the worst of the earth lovers, enticed by the gaiety of sound, enter and fill the arches and the vacant spaces for the moment, skipping about in wild hilarity. The Bum joins them, dancing deliriously. Persistances of fish and birds and animals, attracted by the rhythm which is both colour and harmony to them, turn and weave among the others. Ancient and new dead of every clime, enamored of the earth life and wandering idly, enter. A tired pedestrian of forty, an architect, strolling for the air and hearing the melody, enters. After him come spirits of the streets—a doctor and two artisans, newly dead, wondering at the sound). THE MINISTER OF ST. GILES (noting the flood of hags and wastrels). And these are horrible presences! Succubi! Will they never get enough of materiality? THE MONK. In my day the Thebaid was alive with them—the scum of Rome and Alexandria, annoying us holy men at our devotions. THE MINISTER. Do you still identify yourself with earthly beliefs? THE MONK. A phase! A phase! In the presence and thought of materiality I seem to partake of it. THE FIRST EGYPTIAN. And I! A sound observation! THE THIRD EGYPTIAN. The lure of life! It has never lost its charm for me. THE MINISTER (to himself). Nor for me. THE FAWN (cavorting near, his kex to his lips, piping vigorously). Heavy dolts! Little they know of joy except to stare at it. THE MINISTER (indicating the fawn). And this animal—to profane a temple! THE MONK (mischievously). And do you still cling to earthly notions of sanctity? THE MINISTER. I hold as I have said, that there must be some power that explains us. THE TWELVE HAMA-DRYADS (dancing and singing): Round and round a dozen times, Three times up and three times down, Catch a shadow circlewise, Fill it full of thistledown.