Sir T. I burnt
A torch to-day to Aphrodite: yes;
And burnt it out: the more fool I; for love
Should leave a gathering coal. I know, I know!
But fear not you; my unclogged intellect
Will fling the prophet's part I play to-night
Across the footlights like a shower of stars,
Of falling stars.
St. J. Distort not hazardous tropes
To evil omens!
Sir T. Expect no triumph, Gervase.
A stormy night; shipwreck, perhaps.
St. J. At least
My prologue will compel a tolerant mood.
Sir T. A paying audience tolerant! Money's worth;
They come to be arrested, entertained.
Your speech will goad a curiosity
Already piqued. The play's a great event,
No doubt; but your success may be the world's
Defeat.
St. J. The world's defeat?
Sir T. By which I mean
You come a hundred years before your time.
St. J. You must not think, nor feel that! Heart and brain
The world is with us, waiting for our word.
Sir T. The world is waiting always for the word
It must obey, the news it must believe;
But never recognizes what it needs,
And worships only craft and jugglery.
It loves to see a well-known trick performed
Another way, to hear an old lie told
Divertingly in some fresh parable.
St. J. That's not the great mood, Tristram.