And yet they buy it for a hundred crowns.
But for a soul like yours, I heard them say,
They would give five hundred thousand crowns and more.

CATHLEEN. How can a heap of crowns pay for a soul?
Is the green grave so terrible a thing?

FIRST MERCHANT. Some sell because the money gleams, and some
Because they are in terror of the grave,
And some because their neighbours sold before,
And some because there is a kind of joy
In casting hope away, in losing joy,
In ceasing all resistance, in at last
Opening one's arms to the eternal flames,

In casting all sails out upon the wind;
To this--full of the gaiety of the lost--
Would all folk hurry if your gold were gone.

CATHLEEN. There is something, Merchant, in your voice
That makes me fear. When you were telling how
A man may lose his soul and lose his God
Your eyes were lighted up, and when you told
How my poor money serves the people, both--
Merchants forgive me--seemed to smile.

FIRST MERCHANT. Man's sins
Move us to laughter only; we have seen
So many lands and seen so many men.
How strange that all these people should be swung