VI.

But you are not everyone;

Nor is he. Nor do both together

In the aggregate

Compose the great globe

And all that therein is.

I'll wait awhile, possessing my soul in

Patience.

Everything comes to the man who waits.

(Sometimes, 'tis true, 'tis the bobby

Who asks what he's loafing there for,

And bids him

Move on.

That is a chance the brave resolute soul

Faces.) The pity of it is

That you, MARKISS, having so much to give,

So little gave

Me.