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I do know the man

A Magian of great power, and fearful skill!

THIRD SPIRIT. Bow down and worship, slave!—

What, know'st thou not

Thine and our Sovereign ?-Tremble, and obey!

ALL THE SPIRITs. Prostrate thyself, and thy condemned clay,

Child of the Earth! or dread the worst.


I know it;

"Twill be taught thee.

And yet ye see I kneel not.


MAN. 'Tis taught already ;-many a night on the


On the bare ground, have I bow'd down my face,

And strew'd my head with ashes; I have known
The fulness of humiliation, for

I sunk before my vain despair, and knelt
To my own desolation.


Dost thou dare

Refuse to Arimanes on his throne

What the whole earth accords, beholding not
The terror of his Glory-Crouch! I say.

MAN. Bid him bow down to that which is above


The overruling Infinite-the Maker

Who made him not for worship-let him kneel,

And we will kneel together.

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Is of no common order, as his port

And presence here denote; his sufferings

Have been of an immortal nature, like

Our own ; his knowledge and his powers and will, As far as is compatible with clay,

Which clogs the etherial essence, have been such

As clay hath seldom borne; his aspirations

Have been beyond the dwellers of the earth,
And they have only taught him what we know—
That knowledge is not happiness, and science

But an exchange of ignorance for that

Which is another kind of ignorance.

This is not all-the passions, attributes

Of earth and heaven, from which no power, nor being,
Nor breath from the worm upwards is exempt,
Have pierced his heart; and in their consequence
Made him a thing, which I, who pity not,
Yet pardon those who pity. He is mine,

And thine, it may be-be it so, or not,
No other Spirit in this region hath

A soul like his-or power upon his soul.

NEM. What doth he here then?


Let him answer that.

MAN. Ye know what I have known; and without


I could not be amongst ye but there are

Powers deeper still beyond-I come in quest

Of such, to answer unto what I seek.

NEM. What wouldst thou?


Thou canst not reply to me.

Call up the dead-my question is for them.

NEM. Great Arimanes, doth thy will avouch

The wishes of this mortal?

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Of the form of thy birth,

Of the mould of thy clay,
Which returned to the earth,
Re-appear to the day!

Bear what thou borest,

The heart and the form,

And the aspect thou worest

Redeem from the worm.


Who sent thee there requires thee here!

(The Phantom of ASTARTE rises and stands in the midst.)

MAN. Can this be death? there's bloom upon her


But now I see it is no living hue,

But a strange hectic-like the unnatural red
Which Autumn plants upon the perish'd leaf.

It is the same! Oh, God! that I should dread

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