Who holds himself a soul stripped of the world
And its necessities. [Lies down]
That fellow took
My cloak. Good luck to him. Philosophy,
Thou art the only sail no wind may drive
Into misfortune's port. How still the world!
The silence like a great Accuser stares,
Full of dumb curses looking from large eyes.
[Rises and walks]
... I will not see her more. O, quickly come,