Takes vial from pocket medicine case.
Our native drugs are balanced well; one plant
Sucks in the beams the sleepy moon sends down,
Another drinks the waking draught of dawn.
That made him sleep, but this—Ah!
A mouldy mummied corse that in the tomb
A thousand years had lain, would wake once more,
If but three drops of this should touch its lips.
I'll give you, sir, but two.
Drops liquid into glass and fills with wine.
There, swallow it.
Administering to Dimsdell.
Now, let me see—he must not know how long
He slept,—and by the sun it is not long—
I have't; I'll make him think he merely lost
Himself while I was talking.
Dimsdell stirs. Roger pours a glass of wine and takes position he occupied when Dimsdell fell asleep. Speaks as in continuation of former speech.
Mellow wine
Is Nature's golden bounty unto man.
And it hath well been said: Dame Nature is
A gentle mother if we follow her;
But if she drives our steps no fury wields
A fiercer lash; yet all her punishments
Are kindly meant; our puny faculties
Would nest forever fledgeling in our minds,
Did not her wise austerity compel
Their flight.
Dimsdell wakes with a start and recovers himself as one who would not seem rude.