THE DAUGHTER. No, friends. If I did, you would not believe me.
MEDICINE. Why, then, there is nothing there.
THE DAUGHTER. You have said it—but you have not understood.
MEDICINE. It is bosh, what she says!
ALL. Bosh!
THE DAUGHTER. [To THE POET] They are to be pitied.
THE POET. Are you in earnest?
THE DAUGHTER. Always in earnest.
THE POET. Do you think the right-minded are to be pitied also?
THE DAUGHTER. They most of all, perhaps.