SRI AUROBINDO
Collected Plays and Short Stories
Part Two
Scene I
Ibn Sawy's house.
An upper chamber in the women's apartments.
Doonya, Anice-Aljalice.
You living sweet romance, you come from Persia.
'Tis there, I think, they fall in love at sight?
But will you help me, Doonya, will you help me?
To him, to him, not to that grizzled King!
I am near Heaven with Hell that's waiting for me.
I know, I know! you feel as I would, child,
If told that in ten days I had to marry
My cruel boisterous cousin. I will help you.
But strange! to see him merely pass and love him!
While he could see me.
Yes, that was Nureddene.
You'll help me?
Yes,
With all my heart and soul and brains and body.
But how? My uncle's orders are so strict!
And do you always heed your uncle's orders,
You dutiful niece?
Rigidly, when they suit me.
It shall be done although my punishment
Were even to wed Fareed. But who can say
When he'll come home?
Comes he not daily then?
When he's not hawking. Questing, child, for doves,
White doves.
I'll stop all that when he is mine.
Will you? and yet I think you will, nor find it
I will.
You have relieved my conscience of a load.
Who blames me? I do this to reform my cousin,
Gravely, deliberately, with serious thought,
And am quite virtuously disobedient.
I almost feel a long white beard upon my chin,
The thing's so wise and sober. Gravely, gravely!
She marches out, solemnly stroking
an imaginary beard.
My heart beats reassuringly within.
The destined Prince will come and all bad spells
Be broken; then — you angels up in Heaven
Who guard sweet shame and woman's modesty,
Hide deep your searching eyes with those bright wings.
It is not wantonness, though in a slave
Permitted, spurs me forward. O tonight
Let sleep your pens, in your rebuking volumes
Record not this. I am on such a brink,
A hound of horror baying at my heels,
I cannot pause to think what fire of blushes
I choose to flee through, nor how safe cold eyes
May censure me. I pass though I should burn.
You cannot bid me pick my careful steps!
Oh, no, the danger is too near. I run
By the one road that's left me, to escape,
To escape, into the very arms I love.
Ibn Sawy's house.
A room in the women's apartments.
Ameena, Doonya.
Has he come in?
He has.
For three long days!
I will reprove him — call him to me, Doonya.
That's right. Lips closer there!
And just try hard to frown. That's mildly grim
And ought to shake him. Now you spoil all by laughing.
Away, you madcap! Call him here.
The culprit
Presents himself unsummoned.
Ayoob, Ayoob!
A bowl of sherbet in my chamber.
Here I am back, your errant gadabout,
Your vagabond scapegrace, tired of truancy
And very hungry for my mother's arms.
My dearest son!
Why, Doonya, cousin, what wild face is this?
This is a frown, a frown, upon my forehead.
Do you not tremble when you see it? No?
To tell you the plain truth, my wandering brother,
We both were practising a careful grimness
And meant to wither you with darting flames
From basilisk eyes and words more sharp than swords,
Burn you and frizzle into simmering cinders.
Oh, you'ld have been a dolorous spectacle
Before we had finished with you! Ask her else.
Heed her not, Nureddene. But tell me, child,
Is this well done to wander vagrant-like
Leaving your mother to anxieties
And such alarms? Oh, we will have to take
Some measure with you!
Oh, now, now, we are stern!
Mother, I only range abroad and learn
Of manners and of men to fit myself
For the after-time.
True, true, and of the taste
Of different wines and qualities of girls;
What eyes Damascus sends, the Cairene sort,
Bagdad's red lips and Yemen's willowy figures,
Who has the smallest waist in Bassora,
Or who the shapeliest little foot moon-bright
Beneath her anklets. These are sciences
And should be learned by sober masculine graduates.
These too are not amiss,
Doonya, for world-wise men. And do you think,
Dear Mother, I could learn the busy world
Here, in your lap, within the shadowy calm
Of women's chambers?
Doonya, it is not all so bad, this wandering.
And I am sure they much o'erstate his faults
Who tell of them.
Oh, this is very grim!
But, Nureddene, you must not be so wild;
Or when we are gone, what will you do, if now
You learn no prudence? All your patrimony
You'll waste, — and then?
Then, mother, life begins.
I shall go forth, a daring errant-knight,
To my true country out in Faeryland;
Wander among the Moors, see Granada,
The delicate city made of faery stone,
Cairo, Tangier, Aleppo, Trebizond;
Or in the East, where old enchantment dwells,
Find Pekin of the wooden piles, Delhi
Of the idolaters, its brazen pillar
And huge seven-storied temples sculpture-fretted,
And o'er romantic regions quite unknown
Preach Islam, sword in hand; sell bales of spice
From Bassora to Java and Japan;
Then on through undiscovered islands, seas
And Oceans yet unnamed; yes, everywhere
Catch Danger by the throat where I can find him, —
Butcher blood-belching dragons with my blade,
Cut ogres, chop giants, tickle cormorants, —
Then in some land, I have not settled which, —
Call it Cumcatchia or Nonsensicum.
Marry a Soldan's daughter, sweet of eye
And crowned with gracious hair, deserving her
By deeds impossible: conduct her armies
Against her foemen, enter iron-walled
Cities besieged with the loud clang of war,
Rescue imperilled kingdoms, 'mid the smoke
Of desperate cities slay victorious kings,
And so extend my lady's empire wide —
From Bassora to the quite distant moon.
There I shall reign with beauty and splendour round
In a great palace built of porphyry,
Marble and jasper, with strange columns made
Of coral and fair walls bright-arabesqued
On which the Koran shall be written out
In sapphires and in rubies. I will sit
Drinking from cups of gold delightful wine,
Watching slow dances, while the immortal strain
Of music wanders to its silent home.
And I shall have bright concubines and slaves
Around me crowding all my glorious home
With beautiful faces, thick as stars in heaven.
My wealth shall be so great that I can spend
Millions each day nor feel the want. I'll give
Till there shall be no poor in all my realms,
Nor any grieved; for I shall every night,
Like Haroun al Rasheed, the mighty Caliph,
Wander disguised with Jaafar and Mesrour
Redressing wrongs, repressing Almuenes,
And set up noble men like my dear father
In lofty places, giving priceless boons,
An unseen Providence to all mankind.
And you will marry me, dear Nureddene
To Jaafar, your great Vizier, so that we
Shall never part, but every blessed night
Drink and be merry in your halls, and live
Felicitously for ever and for aye,
So long as full moons shine and brains go wrong
And wine is drunk. I make my suit to you from now,
Caliph of Faeryland.
Your suit is granted.
And meanwhile, Doonya, I amuse myself
With nearer kingdoms, Miriam's wavy locks
And Shazarath-al-Durr's sweet voice of song.
And meanwhile, brother, till you get your kingdom,
We shall be grim, quite grim.
Your father's angry.
I have not known him yet so moved. My child,
Do not force us to punish you.
With kisses?
Look, Doonya, at these two dear hypocrites,
She with her gentle honey-worded threats,
He with his stormings. Pooh! I care not for you.
Not care!
No, not a jot for him or you,
My little mother, or only just so much
As a small kiss is worth.
I told you, Doonya,
He was the dearest boy in all the world,
The best, the kindest.
Oh yes, you told me that.
And was the dearest boy in all the world
Rummaging the regions for the dearest girl,
While the admiring sun danced round the welkin
A triple circuit?
I have found her, Doonya.
The backward glance?
Your father!
Ameena,
I'm called to the palace; something is afoot.
Ah, rascal! ah, you villain! you have come?
Sir, a long hour.
Rogue! scamp! what do you mean?
Knave, is my house a caravanserai
For you to lodge in when it is your pleasure?
It is the happiest home in Bassora,
Where the two kindest parents in the world
Excuse their vagabond son.
You will buy trinkets? You will have me dunned?
Did he dun you? I hope he asked
A fitting price; I told him to.
Sir, sir,
What game is this to buy your hussies trinkets
And send your father in the bill?
Who taught you
This rule of conduct?
You, sir.
I, rascal?
You told me
That debt must be avoided like a sin.
What other way could I avoid it, sir,
Yet give the trinket?
Logic of impudence?
Tell me, you curled wine-bibbing Aristotle,
Did I tell you also to have mistresses
And buy them trinkets?
Not in so many words.
So many devils!
But since you did not marry me
Nor buy a beautiful slave for home delight,
I thought you'ld have me range outside for pleasures
To get experience of the busy world.
If 'twas an oversight, it may be mended.
I'm dumb!
There is a Persian Muazzim sells,
Whom buy for me, — her rate's ten thousand pieces —
A Persian! Muazzim sells! ten thousand pieces!
Where grows this tangle? I become afraid.
Whom buy for me, I swear I'll be at home,
Quite four days out of seven.
Hear me, young villain!
I'm called to the palace, but when I return,
Look to be bastinadoed, look to be curried
In boiling water. (aside) I must blind him well.
Ten days I shall be busy with affairs,
Then for your slave-girl. Bid the broker keep her.
Oh, I forgot! I swore to pull your curls
For your offences.
I must not let you, sir;
They are no longer my own property.
There's not a lock that has not been bespoken
For a memento.
You handsome laughing rogue! Hear, Ameena,
Let Doonya sleep with Anice every night.
O Doonya, Doonya, tall, sweet, laughing Doonya!
I am in love, — drowned, strangled, dead with longing.
For the world's Persian? But she's sold by now.
I asked Muazzim.
A quite absolute liar.
O if she is, I'll leave all other cares
And only seek her through an empty world.
What, could one backward glance sweep you so forward?
Why, Doonya!
Brother, I know a thing I know
You do not know. A sweet bird sang it to me
In an upper chamber.
Doonya, you're full of something,
And I must hear it.
What will you give me for it?
None of your night-hawk kisses, cousin mine!
But a mild loving kind fraternal pledge
I'll not refuse.
You are the wickedest, dearest girl
In all the world, the maddest sweetest sister
A sighing lover ever had. Now tell me.
More, more! I must be flattered.
You'll keep me in suspense?
Enough, enough!
The Persian — listen and perpend, O lover!
Lend ear while I unfold my wondrous tale,
A tale long, curled and with a tip, — Oh Lord!
I'll clip my tale. The Persian's bought for you
And in the upper chambers.
Doonya, Doonya!
But those two loving hypocrites, —
All's meant
To be surprise.
Surprise me no surprises.
I am on fire, Doonya, I am on fire.
There is an ogre at her door, a black
White-tusked huge-muscled hideous grinning giant,
Of mood uproarious, horrible of limb,
An Ethiopian fell ycleped Harkoos.
The eunuch!
Stop, stop, stop. He has a sword,
A fearful, forceful, formidable blade.
Your eunuch and his sword! I mount to heaven
And who shall stop me?
Stop, stop! yet stop! He's off
Like bolt from bowstring. Now the game's afoot
And Bassora's Sultan, Mahomed Alzayni,
May whistle for his slave-girl. I am Fate,
For I upset the plans of Viziers and of Kings.
Ibn Sawy's house.
The upper chambers of the women's apartments.
Doonya, sleeping on a couch.
Enter Nureddene and Anice-Aljalice.
I told you 'twas the morning.
Morning so early?
This moment 'twas the evening star; is that
The matin lustre?
There is a star at watch beside the moon
Waiting to see you ere it leaves the skies.
It is our star
And guards us both.
It is the star of Anice,
The star of Anice-Aljalice who came
From Persia guided by its silver beams
Into these arms of vagrant Nureddene
Which keep her till the end. Sweet, I possess you!
Till now I could not potently believe it.
Strange, strange that I who nothing have deserved,
Should win what all would covet! We are fools
Who reach at baubles taking them for stars.
O wiser woman who come straight to Heaven!
But I have wandered by the way and staled
The freshness of delight with gadding pleasures,
Anticipated Love's perfect fruit with sour
And random berries void of real savour.
Oh fool! had I but known!
What can I say
But once more that I have deserved you not,
Who yet must take you, knowing my undesert,
Whatever come hereafter?
The house is stirring.
Who is this sleeping here? My cousin Doonya!
Is morning come? My blessing on you, children.
Be good and kind, dears; love each other, darlings.
Dame Mischief, thanks; thanks, Mother Madcap.
Now, whither?
To earth from Paradise.
Walk off the stage before your part is done.
The situation now with open eyes
And lifted hands and chidings. You'll be whipped,
Anice, and Nureddene packed off to Mecca
On penitential legs: I shall be married.
Oh, our fell Ethiopian snoozing here?
Snore, noble ogre, snore louder than nature
To excuse your gloomy skin from worse than thwacks.
They will be angry.
Oh, with two smiles I'll buy an easy pardon.
Whatever comes, we are each other's now.
Nothing will come to us but happy days,
You, my surpassing jewel, on my neck
Closer to me than my own heartbeats.
Yes,
Closer than kisses, closer than delight,
Close only as love whom sorrow and delight
Cannot diminish, nor long absence change
Nor daily prodigality of joy
Expend immortal love.
You have the love.
I have told Nuzhath to call mother here.
There will be such a gentle storm.
Harkoos!
Gmm — Mmm —
Grunted almost like nature,
Thou excellent giant.
Harkoos, dost thou sleep?
Sleep! I! I was only pondering a text of Koran with closed eyes, lady. You give us slaves pitiful small time for our devotions; but 'twill all be accounted for hereafter.
And canst thou meditate beneath the lash?
Stick or leather, 'tis all one to Harkoos. I will not be cudgelled out of my straight road to Paradise.
My mind misgives me.
Dear, think the chiding given; do not pain
Your forehead with a frown.
You, Doonya, too
Were part of this?
Part! you shall not abate
My glory; I am its artificer,
The auxiliary and supplement of Fate.
Quite shameless in your disobedience, Doonya?
Your father's anger will embrace us all.
And nothing worse than the embrace which ends
A chiding and a smile, our fault deserves.
You had a gift for me in your sweet hands
Concealed behind you; I have but reached round
And taken it ere you knew.
For you, my son?
She was not for you, she was for the King.
This was your worst fault, child; all others venial
Beside it.
For the King! You told me, Doonya,
That she was bought for me, a kind surprise
Intended?
I did, exact!
Such falsehood, Doonya!
No falsehood, none. Purchased she was for him,
For he has got her. And surprise! Well, mother,
Are you not quite surprised? And uncle will be
Most woefully. My cousin and Anice too
Are both caught napping, — all except great Doonya.
No falsehood, mere excess of truth, a bold
Anticipation of the future, mother.
I did not know of this. Yet blame not Doonya;
For had I known, I would have run with haste
More breathless to demand my own from Fate.
What will your father think? I am afraid.
He was most urgent; grave beyond his wont.
Absent yourself awhile and let me bear
The first keen breathing of his anger.
The King!
And if he were the Caliph of the world,
He should not have my love. Come, fellow-culprit.
Harkoos, go fetch your master here; and stiffen
The muscles of your back. Negligent servant!
'Tis all one to Harkoos. Stick or leather! leather or stick! 'Tis the way of this wicked and weary world.
Yet, Anice, tell me, is't too late? Alas!
Your cheeks and lowered eyes confess the fault.
I fear your nature and your nurture, child,
Are not so beautiful as is your face.
Could you not have forbidden this?
Lady,
Remember my condition. Can a slave
Forbid or order? We are only trained
To meek and quick obedience; and what's virtue
In freemen is in us a deep offence.
Do you command your passions, not on us
Impose that service; 'tis not in our part.
You have a clever brain and a quick tongue.
And yet this speech was hardly like a slave's!
I deny not, lady,
My heart consented to this fault.
I know
Who 'twas besieged you, girl, and do not blame
Your heart for yielding where it had no choice.
Exit Anice. Enter Harkoos and Ibn Sawy.
I hope, I hope that has not chanced
Which I have striven to prevent. This slave
Grins only and mutters gibberish to my questions.
The worst.
Why so! the folly was my own
And I must bear its heavy consequence.
Sir, you shall have your wage for what has happened.
The way of the world.
Whose peg's loose?
Beat Harkoos.
Because my young master would climb through the wrong window and mistake a rope-ladder for the staircase, my back must ache.
Was the window-sill my post?
Have I wings to stand upon air or a Djinn's eye to see through wood?
How bitter is injustice!
You shall be thrashed for your poor gift of lying.
Blame none; it was unalterable fate.
That name by which we put our sins on God,
Yet shall not so escape. 'Twas our indulgence
Moulded the boy and made him fit for sin;
Which now, by our past mildness hampered quite,
We cannot punish without tyranny.
Offences we have winked at, when they knocked
At foreign doors, how shall we look at close
When they come striking home?
What will you do?
The offence here merits death, but not the offender.
Easy solution if the sin could die
And leave the sinner living!
Vizier, you are perplexed, to talk like this
Because a little's broken, break not more.
Let Nureddene have Anice-Aljalice,
As Fate intended. Buy another slave
Fairer than she is for great Alzayni's bed,
Return his money to the treasury
And cover up this fault.
With lies?
With silence.
Will God be silent? Will my enemies?
The son of Khakan silent? Ameena,
My children have conspired my shame and death.
Face not the thing so mournfully. Vizier, you want
A woman's wit beside you in the Court.
Muene may speak; will you be dumb? Whom then
Will the King trust? Collect your wits, be bold,
Be subtle; guard yourself, protect your child.
You urge me on a road my weaker heart
Chooses, not reason. But consider, dame,
If we excuse such gross and violent fault
Done in our house, what hope to save our boy, —
Oh, not his body, but the soul within?
'Twill petrify in vice and grow encrusted
With evil as with a leprosy.
Do this.
Show a fierce anger, have a gleaming knife
Close at his throat, let him be terrified.
Then I'll come in with tears and seem to save him
On pledge of fairer conduct.
This has a promise.
Give me a knife and let me try to frame
My looks to anger.
Harkoos, a dagger here!
But see, you come not in too early anxious
And mar the game.
Trust me.
Go, call my son,
Harkoos; let him not know that I am here.
'Tis seen; then why not this? 'tis worth the trial.
Prosper or fail, I must do something quickly
Before I go upon the Caliph's work
To Roum the mighty. But I hear him come.
You're sure of it? You shall have gold for this
Kind treason.
Trust Harkoos; and if he beats me,
Why, sticks are sticks and leather is but leather.
Father!
O rascal, traitor, villain, imp!
He throws him down on a couch and
holds him under his dagger.
I'll father you. Prepare, prepare your soul,
Your black and crime-encrusted soul for hell.
I'm death and not your father.
Mother, quick!
Ah, woman! Wherefore do you come so soon?
How his eyes roll! Satan, abandon him.
Take me off, you villain?
Tickle him in the ribs, that's the best way.
Tickle me in the ribs! Impudent villain!
Husband, what do you? think,
He is your only son.
And preferable
I had not him.
Better no son than bad ones.
Is there no help then?
None; prepare!
All right.
But let me lie a little easier first.
Lie easier! Rogue, your impudence amazes.
You shall lie easier soon on coals of hell.
This goes no farther.
They are in angry talk.
Waste not your terrors, sweet heart.
We are rehearsing an old comedy,
“The tyrant father and his graceless son”.
See now the end
Of all your headstrong moods and wicked rages
You would indulge yourself in, though I warned you,
Against your gallant handsome virtuous son.
And now they have turned your brain!
Vicious indulgence,
How bitter-dusty is thy fruit! Be warned
And put a rein on anger, curb in wrath,
That enemy of man. Oh, thou art grown
A sad example to all angry fathers!
Someone had told you of this. (To Harkoos) Grinning villain!
Oh yes, it is I, of course. Your peg's loose; beat Harkoos.
My peg, you rogue! I'll loose your peg for you.
No, father, let him be, and hear me out.
I swear it was not out of light contempt
For your high dignity and valued life
More precious to me than my blood, if I
Transgressed your will in this. I knew not of it,
Nor that you meant my Anice for the King.
For me I thought her purchased, so was told,
And still believe religiously that Fate
Brought her to Bassora only for me.
It was a fault, my child.
Which I cannot repent.
You are my son, generous and true and bold
Though faulty. Take the slave-girl then, but swear
Never hereafter mistress, slave or wife
Lies in your arms but only she; neither,
Until herself desire it, mayst thou sell her.
I swear it.
Leave us.
Anice, in care for thee I have required
This oath from him, which he, perhaps will keep.
Do thou requite it; be to him no less
Than a dear wife.
How noble is the nature
That prompts you to enforce on great offenders
Their dearest wishes!
Go in, my child, go, Anice.
Last night of my departure hence to Roum
To parley with the Greek for great Haroon,
I spoke with you, and my long year of absence, —
It is a weary time.
Wherein much evil
May chance; and therefore will I leave my children
As safe as God permits. Doonya to nuptials.
The son of Khakan wants her for his cub,
But shall not have her. One shall marry her
Who has the heart and hand to guard her well.
Who, husband?
Murad, Captain of the City.
He rises daily in Alzayni's favour.
He is a Turk. Our noble Arab branch
Were ill-engrafted on that savage stock.
A prejudice. There is no stock in Islam
Except the Prophet. For our Nureddene,
I will divide my riches in two halves,
Leave one to him and one for you with Murad,
While you are with your kin or seem to be.
Oh wherefore this?
'Tis likely that the boy,
Left here in sole command, will waste his wealth
And come to evil. If he's sober, well;
If not, when he is bare as any rock,
Abandoned by his friends, spewed out by all,
It may be that in this sharp school and beaten
With savage scourges the wild blood in him
May learn sobriety and noble use:
Then rescue him, assist his better nature.
And we shall see too how the loves endure
Betwixt him and the Persian; whether she
Deserves her monarchy in his wild will,
Or, even deserving, keeps it.
But, dear husband,
Shall I not see my boy for a whole year?
No tears! Consider it the punishment
Of our too fond indulgent love, — happy
If that be worst. All will end well, I hope,
And I returning, glad, to Bassora
Embrace a son reformed, a happy niece
Nursing her babe, and you, the gentle mother,
Like the sweet kindly earth whose patient love
Embraces even our faults and sins. Grant it,
O Allah, if it be at all Thy will.
A room in Ajebe's house.
Balkis, do come, my heart.
Your will?
My will!
When had I any will since you came here,
You rigorous tyrant?
Was it for abuse
You called me?
Bring your lute and sing to me.
I am not in the mood.
Sing, I entreat you.
I am hungry for your voice of pure delight.
I am no kabob, nor my voice a curry.
Oh, Balkis, Balkis! hear me.
It's useless calling; she is in her moods.
And there's your Vizier getting down from horse
In the doorway.
I will go and bring him up.
Mymoona, coax her for me, will you, girl?
It is as good to meet a mangy dog
As this same uncle of ours. He seldom comes.
She conceals herself behind a curtain.
He goes tomorrow? Well. And Nureddene
The scapegrace holds his wealth in hand? Much better.
I always said he was a fool. (To himself) Easily
I might confound him with this flagrant lapse
About the slave-girl. But wait! wait! He gone,
His memory waned, his riches squandered quite,
I'll ruin his son, ruin the insolent Turk
He has preferred to my Fareed. His Doonya
And Anice slave-girls to my lusty boy,
His wife — but she escapes. It is enough
They come back to a desolate house. Oh! let
Their forlorn wrinkles hug an empty nest
In life's cold leafless winter! Meanwhile I set
My seal on every room in the King's heart;
He finds no chamber open when he comes.
Uncle, you ponder things of weight?
No, Ajebe;
Trifles, mere trifles. You're a friend, I think,
Of Ibn Sawy's son?
We drink together.
Right, right! Would you have place, power, honours, gold,
Or is your narrow soul content with ease?
Why, uncle!
Do you dread death? furious disgrace?
Or beggary that's worse than either? Do you?
All men desire those blessings, fear these ills.
They shall be yours in overflowing measure,
Good, if you serve me, ill, if you refuse.
What service?
Ruin wanton Nureddene.
Gorge him with riot and excess; rob him
Under a friendly guise; force him to spend
Till he's a beggar. Most, delude him on
To prone extremity of drunken shame
Which he shall feel, yet have no power to check.
Drench all his senses in vile profligacy,
Nor mere light gallantries, but gutter filth,
Though you have to share it. Do this and you're made;
But this undone, you are yourself undone.
Eight months I give you. No, attend me not.
Mymoona! girl, where are you?
Here, here, behind you.
A Satan out of hell has come to me.
A Satan, truly, and he'ld make you one,
Damning you down into the deepest hell of all.
What shall I do?
Not what he tells you to.
Yet if I do not, I am gone. No man
In Bassora could bear his heavy wrath
On the other side —
Leave the other side. 'Tis true,
The dog will keep his word in evil; for good,
'Tis brittle, brittle. But you cannot do it;
Our Balkis loves his Anice so completely.
Girl, girl, my life and goods are on the die.
Do one thing.
I will do what you shall bid me.
He has some vile companions, has he not?
Cafoor and Ayoob and the rest; a gang
Of pleasant roisterers without heart or mind.
Whisper the thing to them; yourself do nothing.
Check him at times. Whatever else you do,
Take not his gifts; they are the price of shame.
If he is ruined, as without their urging
Is likely, Satan's satisfied, if not,
We'll flee from Bassora when there's no help.
You have a brain. Yet if I must be vile,
A bolder vileness best becomes a man.
And Balkis?
True.
Is doubtful, but one truth is sadly sure,
That dead men cannot love.
I'll think of it.
Mymoona, leave me; send your sister here.
The thing's too vile! and yet — honours and place,
And to set Balkis on a kingdom's crest
Breaking and making men with her small hands
The lute's too large for! But the way is foul.
What's your command?
Bring me your lute and sing.
I'm sad and troubled. Cross me not, my girl,
My temper's wry.
Oh, threats?
Remember still
You are a slave, however by my love
Pampered, and sometimes think upon the scourge.
Do, do! yes, beat me! Or why beat me only?
Kill me, as you have killed my heart already
With your harsh words. I knew, I knew what all
Your love would end in. Oh! oh! oh! (Weeps).
Forgive me,
O sweetest heart. I swear I did not mean it.
Because in play I sometimes speak a little —
'Twas a jest, a jest!
Tear not my heart with sobs. Look, Balkis, love,
You shall have necklaces worth many thousands,
Pearls, rubies, if you only will not weep.
I am a slave and only fit for scourging,
Not pearls and rubies. Mymoona! Oh, Mymoona!
Bring him a scourge and me a cup of poison.
She plays upon me as upon her lute,
I'm as inert, as helpless, as completely
Ruled by her moods, as dumbly pleasureless
By her light hands untouched. How to appease her?
{DocumentDescription}
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1893
{/Year}
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Circa
{/Exactness}
{/StartingDate}
{EndingDate}
{Year}
1906
{/Year}
{Exactness}
Circa
{/Exactness}
{/EndingDate}
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Writting
{/DateType}
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Play
{/WorkKind}
{/DocumentDescription}