Sir T. No, Belfry.
Belfry. I possess the Grosvenor now,
The premier theatre in London. Well,
I'm going to change it to a music-hall.
Sir T. You won't do that?
Belfry. I will. The drama's done.
This is a new thing I determine. Say:
I've fifty theatres in America,
And six in London; and I know. It pays,
Variety business pays: the public makes
Its entertainment, and it makes it that.
Sir T. Drama will flourish while there's love and hate.
Belfry. Although you wrote it in all the copy-books
'Twould still be true, Sir Tristram—as true as this,
That there must be religion while there's life.
But fashions wear, customs and costumes fade,
And change comes jesting like a conjurer.
The music-hall begins the world again
In Anglo-American drama:—not a joint
Of evolution about it; that's to come:—
A clean solution of continuity
Between the theatre about to be
And that which was. Your Bishop knew a thing:
It's Matter people want. Spirit's played out
For entertainment. Don't attack it, though!
You've had a lesson here to-night to last
A year or two.
Sir T. I shall not now retire,
But build another theatre. Death or life,
Labour or leisure balance the scales: again
A splendid stage, a strenuous time, because
You purpose to undo the thing I did.
Belfry. Build me a dozen, and I'll buy them all,
And fill them nightly with variety shows:
I'm at the heart of this and understand.
Sir T. You don't believe this, Belfry?
Belfry. Don't I? Say:
You reckon that your English Church is dead
Three hundred years or so, for all the state
It keeps, the wealth it grips?