I think about nothing. Sometimes I wonder if the linen is bleaching white, or I go out to see if the crows are picking up the chickens’ food.
WISE MAN.
Oh, what can I do! Is there nobody who believes he can never die? I must go and find somebody! [He goes towards the door, but stops with his eyes fixed on the hour-glass.] I cannot go out; I cannot leave that. Go, and call my pupils again. I will make them understand. I will say to them that only amid spiritual terror, or only when all that laid hold on life is shaken can we see truth. There is something in Plato, but—no, do not call them. They would answer as I have bid.
BRIDGET.
You want somebody to get up an argument with.
WISE MAN.
Oh, look out of the door and tell me if there is anybody there in the street. I cannot leave this glass; somebody might shake it! Then the sand would fall more quickly.
BRIDGET.
I don’t understand what you are saying. [Looks out.] There is a great crowd of people talking to your pupils.
WISE MAN.