THYRSIS: [With hatred.] I see.
COLUMBINE: [Off stage.] Look, Pierrot, there's the moon.
PIERROT: [Off stage.] Nonsense!
THYRSIS: I see.
COLUMBINE: [Off stage.] Sing me an old song, Pierrot,— Something I can remember.
PIERROT: [Off stage.] Columbine. Your mind is made of crumbs,—like an escallop Of oysters,—first a layer of crumbs, and then An oystery taste, and then a layer of crumbs.
THYRSIS: [Searching.] I find no jewels . . . but I wonder what The root of this black weed would do to a man If he should taste it. ... I have seen a sheep die, With half the stalk still drooling from its mouth. 'Twould be a speedy remedy, I should think, For a festered pride and a feverish ambition. It has a curious root. I think I'll hack it In little pieces. . . . First I'll get me a drink; And then I'll hack that root in little pieces As small as dust, and see what the color is Inside. [Goes to bowl on floor.]
The pool is very clear. I see A shepherd standing on the brink, with a red cloak About him, and a black weed in his hand. . . . 'Tis I. [Kneels and drinks.]
CORYDON: [Coming to wall.] Hello, what are you doing, Thyrsis?
THYRSIS: Digging for gold.