[To himself.] So, sister Miriam, it is known then. Slave, you die.
[Aloud.] O, you ambiguous stench,
You'll be more interesting as a mummy
I have no doubt.

I’m drunk, yes—drenched with the thought
Of a certain thing. [Aside.] I'll sleep sounder to-night
Than all the nights I've followed him about
Worrying each slight clue, each monosyllable
To give the word to Imra: the prince is near,
And Moses' eyes shall blink before next hour
To a hundred javelins. I’ll tease him till they come.
[Aloud.] On Koelue's tears I swam to you, in a mist
Of her sighs I hung round you;
As in some hallucination I've been walking
A white waste world, we two only in it.

Doubtless the instinct balked to bully the girl,
Making large gapings in your haschish dreams,