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The Mayor.
[Whistling.]
That was, I need not say, a lie.
The Dean.
Really, a lie?
The Mayor.
I just let loose
At the first fancy that came by;
Is it a sin such means to use
In such a cause?
The Dean.
God bless me, no
Need is an adequate excuse.
The Mayor.
And then, to-morrow, when the glow
Of agitation's dead, or dying,
What will it matter if the end
Was gain'd by telling truth, or lying?
The Dean.
I am no formalist, my friend.
[Looks up into the wild.]
But is't not Brand that yonder drags
His slow course upward?
The Mayor.
Ay, you're right!
A lonely warrior off to fight!
The Dean.
Nay, there's another too—that lags
Far in the rear!
