No More Learning

Command me, sir!

Bal. To the field, then--to the field--
To the senate or the field.

Pol. Alas! Alas!
There is an imp would follow me even there!
There is an imp hath followed me even there!
There is--what voice was that?

Bal. I heard it not.
I heard not any voice except thine own,
And the echo of thine own.

Pol. Then I but dreamed.

Bal.
Give not thy soul to dreams: the camp--the court,
Befit thee--Fame awaits thee--Glory calls--
And her the trumpet-tongued thou wilt not hear
In hearkening to imaginary sounds
And phantom voices.

Pol. It is a phantom voice!
Didst thou not hear it then?

Bal. I heard it not.

Pol. Thou heardst it not! --Baldazaar, speak no more
To me, Politian, of thy camps and courts.
Oh! I am sick, sick, sick, even unto death,
Of the hollow and high-sounding vanities
Of the populous Earth! Bear with me yet awhile!
We have been boys together--schoolfellows--
And now are friends--yet shall not be so long--
For in the eternal city thou shalt do me
A kind and gentle office, and a Power--
A Power august, benignant and supreme--
Shall then absolve thee of all further duties
Unto thy friend.

Bal. Thou speakest a fearful riddle
I will not understand.

Pol.