ROS.
And now again
Within that square of darkness, look! a light
That feels its way with hesitating pulse,
As we do, through the darkness that it drives
To blacken into deeper night beyond.

FIFE.
In which could we follow that light's example,
As might some English Bardolph with his nose,
We might defy the sunset--Hark, a chain!

ROS.
And now a lamp, a lamp! And now the hand
That carries it.

FIFE.
Oh, Lord! that dreadful chain!

ROS.
And now the bearer of the lamp; indeed
As strange as any in Arabian tale,
So giant-like, and terrible, and grand,
Spite of the skin he's wrapt in.

FIFE.
Why, 'tis his own:
Oh, 'tis some wild man of the woods; I've heard
They build and carry torches--