Nay, get thee away from us, far
Hence.


THALASSIUS

Then
Shall no man's heart, as he raises
A hymn to thy secret head,
Wax great with the godhead he praises:
Thou, God, shalt be like unto dead
Men.


PAN

Grace
I take not of men's thanksgiving,
I crave not of lips that live;
They die, and behold, I am living,
While they and their dead Gods give
Place.


THALASSIUS

Yea:
Too lightly the words were spoken
That mourned or mocked at thee dead:
But whose was the word, the token,