Or, put the same in other words:
That man is noble who doth fear no fate
Which may afflict humanity; but, like
A gallant soldier, meets the charge half way,
And takes his wounds a-jesting.
Now ev'ry one of us, whom Nature whips,
Must take it meekly; for she means our good;
And learn to go along with her.
Dimsdell. I fear
I dozed and lost the thread of argument.
I pray you, pardon me.
Roger. I did not note it.
But, be it so, come sun yourself; drive out
The fog and vapor that becloud your mind,
And let the warmth of nature take their place.
Nature retrieves our losses, or charges them
Against us; all things do rest, even the plants
Do slumber as they grow.
Dimsdell.[top] How greedily
The flow'rs drink up the wine our golden sun
Pours down on them, yet blush to own their drinking!
Roger. This is the New World, man; and Nature here
Is lusty; drink in thy dole of heat and light;
For even I, drenched in the golden rain,
Feel pulsings of lost paradise that make
My blood leap with th' quick-step bound of youth.
This is the very show'r of gold in which
Jove comes to fill the longing world with life.
And as he kisses her with ling'ring lips,
All Nature lies wide open to th' warm embrace
And quickens in his arms.—All, all, but thou!
For thou art single as the northern pole;
As cold, as distant, and unreachable
To what hath passion's warmth; and, though
Thy life be at its summer solstice—bright
With day—thy heart still turns to barren ice,
More bleak than many a wintry age.
Dimsdell. How can I change my disposition, Doctor?
Roger. Widen the thin ecliptic of thy life;
Revolve upon another axis, man;
Let love, the sun of life, beam meltingly
Upon thy heart and thaw it into happiness.
Marry, man, marry.
Dimsdell. I cannot marry: I have my work to do.
Roger. If work precedent were to love, the world
Would be unpeopled. This is the month of June,
And now the locust and the linden tree
Do wed the zephyrs as they blow, and weight
The air with oversweetness.—What song is that?