Excerpt from Philo: An Evangeliad

Charles. You are no dotard, Philo, yet methinks

Your words the dotard play. Why pant, as you

Were standing mast-head in a burning sun,

Watching for whales? Keep to what"s palpable;

Let mysteries alone.

Philo. Therefrom may rise

Our hope.

Charles. Why this to me? I have no hope.

Philo. That you may have. The sky hath a rare glow,

And summer-showers its beauty on the world:

Might it not ray intelligence to us,

Or one of its inhabitants send forth

To visit?

Charles. Woe is me! In her de laine

To see an angel, my dear wife would swoon.

The mystery of merchants" packages

She Iongs to handle. You are too well bred

Philo, to disappoint a woman"s wish.

Good-by; be pleasure yours, and folly too,

If such it is; and mine - to do my errand.

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