There may be poison in the cup
But still the foam must cling.
To keep the strong world’s courage up
Poor fools must laugh and sing;
With sobs below and smiles above,
Amasking day by day,
On trampled, bleeding hopes of love.
So whirls the world away!
There may be breaking of the heart
Though merry laughs the eye.
Still we poor fools must act our part,
And laugh, and weep, and die.
Still must we sportive battles wage,
With foam of lightsome breath,
While underneath the currents rage
And wrecks are churned to death.
Enter Vivien, Dagonet starts.
Vivien. Thou growest grewsome, Dagonet; where hast lost thy mirth?
Dagonet. I know not, Vivien, I know not, belike I am a fool indeed. Poor Dagonet is no more himself.
Vivien. Poor Dagonet.
Dagonet. Why not call me fool, dost thou pity me?
Vivien. Yea, I do.
Dagonet. And since when?
Vivien. Since I knew that thou wert a man.