We are just what you see. That's our only description.
_Watchman_
But what do you want?
We want the Old Man.
_Watchman_
Which old man?
That eternal Old Man.
_Watchman_
How absurd! While you are seeking him, he is after you.
Why?
_Watchman_
He is fond of warming his cold blood with the wine of hot youth.
We'll give him a warm enough reception. All we want is to see him. Have you seen him?
_Watchman_
My watch is at night. I see my people, but don't know their features. But, look here, every one knows that he is the great kidnapper; and you want to kidnap him! It's midsummer madness.
The secret is out. It doesn't take long to discover that we are mad.
_Watchman_
I am the Watchman. The people I see pa.s.sing along the road are all very much alike. Therefore, when I see anything queer, it always strikes me.
Just listen to him. All the respectable people of our neighbourhood say just the same thing--that we are queer.
Yes, we're queer. There's no mistake about that.
_Watchman_
But all this is utter childishness.
Do you hear that? It's exactly what our Dada says.
We have been going on with our childishness through unremembered ages.
And now we have become confirmed children.
And we have a leader, who is a perfect veteran in childhood. He rushes along so recklessly, that he drops off his age at every step he runs.
_Watchman_
And who are you?
We are b.u.t.terflies, freed from the coc.o.o.n of Age.
_Watchman_
[_Aside._] Mad. Raving mad.
_Ferryman_
Then what will you all do now?
_Chandra_
We shall go----
_Watchman_
Where?
_Chandra_
That we haven't decided.
_Watchman_
You have decided to go, but not where to go?
_Chandra_
Yes, that will be settled as we go along.
_Watchman_
What does that mean?
_Chandra_
It means this song.
(_They sing._)
_We move and move without rest, We move while the wanderers' stars shine in the sky and fade.
We play the tune of the road While our limbs scatter away the laughter of movement, And our many-coloured mantle of youth flutters about in the air._