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O Jesus! and me, too. But I must be off to look after my cooking, and I’ve still got so much shopping to do.



And so have we. Gracious goodness!

[Enter. ''The scene is changed by the projection of the signs of a city. Walls and windows.'')



Oh, you old witless fool, is that what you’ve deserved? For what and for whom have you lived And what are you—what on earth are you? You don’t know. You don’t know until they tell you, until others tell you. Until they tell you—what is it they say? (Looks into a newspaper.) “A phrasemonger.” Oh! “Mr. Pieris lives in the blissful illusion that his hollow prophetic lyrics still mean anything to us. He must be informed with the utmost emphasis that the young generation has long since finished with his philistine messianism.” Oh, that cuts me to the quick! “This legend had to be disposed of in a critical manner in order that we might realise how worthless and superfluous is the alleged regenerative work of Pieris.” How that cuts me to the quick! My life’s work, my labour and my mission, all flung down and trampled in the dust. Oh, youth, cruel youth! Alas! there is nothing more in which one’s hopes can be placed. (Reads.) “We have now had enough of prophets, preachers and leaders in the wilderness, and we have also had quite enough of the wilderness itself and of all dreams. Nay, even more, we have now had enough of our fellow-men. For what purpose does Pieris,