Thyr. I see.
Colu. [off stage]. Sing me an old song, Pierrot,—
Something I can remember.
Pier. [off stage]. Columbine,
Your mind is made of crumbs,—like an escallop
Of oysters,—first a layer of crumbs, and then
An oystery taste, and then a layer of crumbs.
Thyr. I find no jewels ... but I wonder what
The root of this black weed would do to a man
If he should taste it.... I have seen a sheep die,
With half the stalk still drooling from its mouth.
'Twould be a speedy remedy, I should think,
For a festered pride and a feverish ambition.
It has a curious root. I think I'll hack it
In little pieces.... First I'll get me a drink;
And then I'll hack that root in little pieces
As small as dust, and see what the color is
Inside. [Goes to bowl on floor.]
The pool is very clear. I see
A shepherd standing on the brink, with a red cloak
About him, and a black weed in his hand....
'Tis I. [Kneels and drinks.]
Cory. [Coming to wall]. Hello, what are you doing, Thyrsis?
Thyr. Digging for gold.
Cory. I'll give you all the gold
You want, if you'll give me a bowl of water.
If you don't want too much, that is to say.
Thyr. Ho, so you've changed your mind?—It's different,
Isn't it, when you want a drink yourself?
Cory. Of course it is.
Thyr. Well, let me see ... a bowl
Of water,—come back in an hour, Corydon. I'm busy now.