Thoas.
Ay, true. All would remain
As now, I think, so far as touches me.
For there’s the luck of slaves like us, that we
Fret little at a red moon in the heavens,
And that more coolly than the greedy dogs
Waiting in hope for tit-bits they may snap,
We watch the sacrifice nor ask in dread
If there be good or evil prophesied.
Kan.