Cébès: Who is with you?
Simon: The voice of my living soul!
I have heard men mourn their misfortunes, but what misfortune can there be?
None.
—It grows dark.
Cébès: It is night.
Simon: Watch the road and speak more softly.
The dry brambles shiver; the branches creak or sway without a sound; the brooks gurgle among the reeds.
We stand in the midst of space, with all about us the blackness,
The melancholy of Earth.