A truce to that, my brother. Were it
As easy to remove our father’s cares!
SALADIN.
Ah! now my joy thou hast at once abated:
To me there is, there can be, nothing wanting;
But—but to him—and, in him, to us all.
What shall I do? From Egypt maybe nothing
Will come this long time. Why—God only knows.
We hear of no stir. To reduce, to spare,
I am quite willing for myself to stoop to,
Were it myself, and only I, should suffer—
But what can that avail? A cloak, a horse,
A sword I ne’er can want;—as to my God,
He is not to be bought; He asks but little,
Only my heart. I had relied, Al-Hafi,
Upon a surplus in my chest.
HAFI.
A surplus?
And tell me, would you not have had me impaled,
Or hanged at least, if you had found me out
In hoarding up a surplus? Deficits—
Those one may venture on.
SALADIN.
Well, but how next?
Could you have found out no one where to borrow
Unless of Sittah?
SITTAH.
And would I have borne
To see the preference given to another?
I still lay claim to it. I am not as yet
Entirely bare.
SALADIN.