Break off this little flute of blasphemy,
This ivory neck,--twist it, I say!
Give her a swift despatch after her leper!
But stay,--if he still lives he'll follow her,
And so we may ensnare him. Harm her not!
Bind her! Away with her to Rimmon's House!
Is all this carrion dead? There's one that moves,--
A spear,--fasten him down! All quiet now?
Then back to our Damascus! Rimmon's face
Shall be made bright with sacrifice.