Default of other beasts, beastlier men,
Cannibals, Anthropophagi, bare Poles
Who never knew a tailor but by taste.

ROS.
Look, look! Unless my fancy misconceive
With twilight--down among the rocks there, Fife--
Some human dwelling, surely--
Or think you but a rock torn from the rocks
In some convulsion like to-day's, and perch'd
Quaintly among them in mock-masonry?

FIFE.
Most likely that, I doubt.

ROS.
No, no--for look!
A square of darkness opening in it--

FIFE.
Oh, I don't half like such openings!--

ROS.
Like the loom
Of night from which she spins her outer gloom--

FIFE.
Lord, Madam, pray forbear this tragic vein
In such a time and place--