No, good sir.
SECOND COUNTRYMAN (_anxiously_). Pray tell us what it may be.
FIRST WAG. 'T is said they become so dazed by the noise of the city and the
rush of such countless numbers, they forget who they are.
FIRST COUNTRYMAN. Eh? Forget who they are?
FIRST WAG (_nodding_). Aye.
(_He winks aside at Second Wag._)
You have heard of this, dear friend?
SECOND WAG (_winking aside_). To be sure; 't is quite common.
SECOND COUNTRYMAN. Forget their own faces?
SECOND WAG. Aye,--their faces. At least, they are not certain as to whose
faces theirs may be.
FIRST COUNTRYMAN. Then we dare not leave this corner!
FIRST WAG. I would not advise it.
SECOND WAG. It would be most unsafe,--at least for to-night.
FIRST WAG. Of course there is this danger,--when you awake in the morning
you may not know whether you are yourselves.
SECOND COUNTRYMAN. Would that I had never left my farm!
FIRST COUNTRYMAN. Would that I had never left my wife!
SECOND WAG. Do not despair; there is a way out of your troubles.
BOTH COUNTRYMEN. Tell us, we pray thee!
SECOND WAG. Each of you must take a gourd from his basket there and tie it
around his ankle. Then, in the morning, when you awake, you will each know
that it is yourself and none other.
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