In the flask that here I hold, both the worlds one may behold; where’s the vision, to divine the wide vista that is mine? Madman comes again to town crying clamour up and down: See, a hundred riots start from the passion of my heart. Both worlds may be seen in the wine-pitches I have! Where is the eye to view the sights I see? There will come another man, possessed, who will shout ‘hu’ in the city; two hundred commotions will arise from the obsession I have.

Grieve not foolishly, my friend, lest the dark of night descend: Lo, the brand upon my brow gleams in starry splendour now. Take me for thy comrade true; yet I fear, if so thou do, thou hast not the strength to bear the vast tumult I prepare. Do not worry, ignorant one, at the approaching darkness of nights; for the scar of my forehead sparkles like stars. You take me as your companion, but I am afraid that you are not up to the tumult and uproar I have raised.