Brand.
She knows the call,—
To offer <g>Nothing</g>, or else all.
The Man.
Priest!
Brand.
Dock the gold-calf as she will,
Say, it remains an idol still.
The Man.
The scourge you send her I will lay
As gently on her as I may.
She has this comfort left her, too:
God is not quite so hard as you! [Goes.
Brand.
Yes, with that comfort's carrion-breath
The world still sickens unto death;
Prompt, in its need, with shriek and song
To lubricate the Judge's tongue.
Of course! The reasonable plan!
For from of old they know their man;—
Since all his works the assurance breathe:
"Yon gray-beard may be haggled with!"
[The Man has met another man on the road; they come back together.
Brand.
A second message!
First Man.
Yes.
Brand.
[To the Second Man.]
Consent!
