You may not believe in my other world; but it is no dream.
It can be proved with compass and scales and a plus b .
Who will integrate space and time and prove that the sum
Does not contain the quantity I describe?
Or all the grades of good and evil for every man,
Forming throughout the myriad universes
A myriad perfect men and perfect minds?
If the scale exists, can one note judge of another,
Or say it is too remote, and the instrument too vast,
To exist for any purpose or use or harmony?
What are uses and purposes? Can the note hear the song?

And now in the afternoon,
When the children are at their school,
Three meadows away,
Hidden by hedges and a row of Lombardy poplars,
And their mother is teaching them and their playmates,
I sit dreaming on the verandah in the shade.
The warm sun falls on the crowfeet and buttercups
In the field before me;
The golden flowers nod and wave and kiss
As a light, warm wind passes over them.
The leaves are singing;
And faintly behind their monotone,
I hear the singing of children.
Mournfully, a cuckoo calls, " Cuck-ooo! "

But on the star, the light of whose sun
Has not yet reached the earth, and may never reach it,
I come in to breakfast clean of body and rich of mind,
And hungry with the morning air.
My boy sits before a bowl of purple wild pansies,
And my girl has a slender green jar of red poppies,
Whose hairy stalks spring from a blue cluster of speedwells.
They have been out in the fields, barefoot in the long wet grass,
The meadow foxtails brushing their legs with a silky touch;
And they shook the jewels from the heart of the clover,

To-morrow I shall wake up tired and heavy-minded,
With a bitter mouth and bleared eyes.
Sluggishly, reluctantly, I shall pull myself from my bed.
I shall thrust on my shabby clothes and wash my face and hands;
Put on a collar and tie, a coat and waistcoat, all in haste,
Drink a cup of hot tea, eat a few mouthfuls of bread and butter;
Then, with a hurried kiss to wife and children,
Run down the stairs into the miserable street.
All I meet are shabby, all go one way,
Drawn on by the same magnet, urged by the same demon.

He is sitting beneath a cherry-tree in bloom,
And the thought of the ripe cherries is in his mouth,
And his eyes love the tall daisies in the grass
And his children playing in the meadow.

The light strikes truly through the lenses of his eyes,
And a fair image falls upon the retina;
The wind brings him many odours —
Earth, grasses, trees, flowers,
And the oakwood burning in the fireplaces.
His ears catch the rustle and song of many things,
And the taste of the cherries is subtle in his mouth.

ACT. V. S CEN. VIII.

Misander, Leucasia, Chryse, Euthalpe, Priest, Eudemus, Timophilus, Cleodemus, Patacion,
Epigenes, Scedasus, Terpander.

Mis. Must there be something still to cross our joys?
What is the matter here?
Phi. A Fury, a Fury!
Yonder he slinks.
Cal. And 't please your Majesty
I am no Fury, I'm a Captain, one
They call Callimachus by daylight Sir;
The Angel Sir, the Angel!
Pru. I'm the Angell.

ACT. V. S CEN VII.

Nicias slinks in, and placeth himself as behind a
Pillar to take the sight; Callimachus after him
dress'd as a Fury .

Call. Well! a Male Fiend is fit for a She Fury;
Like must to like; so I unto this Widdow.
If any of my Coat should come and take
Acquaintance of me for a recall Fiend,
And find me tripping, I've no other way
But just to swear him down I am a true one
That have — — (let's see) — — lain Leiger in the Indies,

ACT . V. S CEN . VI.

Prusias drest like an Angell with a Caduceus in one
hand, and a Taper in the other .

Prus. Thou art an Angell, Prusids , therfore fit
To be receiv'd into her heav'nly Bosome.
She shapes thee in an Habit, that she'l wed thee.
Truly, I think all Courtiers would be Angels,
If that they were not giv'n so much to th' flesh,
That keeps 'em all from Heav'n. But why should I
Be set to guard a Coffin? If there doe
Any ill Spirits use to haunt this Temple,

ACT V. S CEN . V.

Philostratus in a Winding-sheet to perform the
Injunction of the Widdow .

Phil. I have not seen the inside of a Temple
These twelve Months til this time, & now I come
Commanded too: Hell's in this damned Widdow.
What doth she mean to make me lye in a Coffin?
I am not fit for Death, although I think
I'm very forward towards it: Somthing in
My Bones doth tell me so. But let that passe.
If Death should go to claim me now, I were

ACT . V. S CEN . IV.

To them Pyle, Eudemus .

Pyl . Make room for heaven's sake; pray y' quit the Place.
What, will you stifle her with this Multitude?
Mis. Thunder it self shall not remove me hence.
[Leucasia awakens and casts her Eye on Misander.]
Leuc. O! who disturbs the quiet of my Soul
I'd been by this time at Elysium
Had none molested me. But I am glad