No More Learning

that low, swarthy, short-nosed, round-eyed satyr,
With the wide nostrils and Silenus' aspect,
The splay feet and low stature! [214] I had better 220
Remain that which I am.

_Stran. _ And yet he was
The earth's perfection of all mental beauty,
And personification of all virtue.
But you reject him?

_Arn. _ If his form could bring me
That which redeemed it--no.

_Stran. _ I have no power
To promise that; but you may try, and find it
Easier in such a form--or in your own.

_Arn. _ No. I was not born for philosophy,
Though I have that about me which has need on't.
Let him fleet on.

_Stran. _ Be air, thou Hemlock-drinker!
230
[_The shadow of Socrates disappears: another rises_.

_Arn. _ What's here? whose broad brow and whose curly beard
And manly aspect look like Hercules,[215]
Save that his jocund eye hath more of Bacchus
Than the sad purger of the infernal world,
Leaning dejected on his club of conquest,[216]
As if he knew the worthlessness of those
For whom he had fought.

_Stran. _ It was the man who lost
The ancient world for love.

_Arn. _ I cannot blame him,
Since I have risked my soul because I find not
That which he exchanged the earth for.

_Stran. _ Since so far 240
You seem congenial, will you wear his features?

_Arn. _ No. As you leave me choice, I am difficult.
If but to see the heroes I should ne'er
Have seen else, on this side of the dim shore,
Whence they float back before us.

_Stran. _ Hence, Triumvir,
Thy Cleopatra's waiting.