King Nasrulla. Our ancestors have taught us that a king should not live too meanly.
Nourmahal. We cannot appeal to our ancestors. We cannot appeal to anything, and nothing can be undone. As the Persian poet says, "The moving finger writes," and what is written must be.
King Nasrulla. And if what is written is beautiful, and if you are to be a king's throne-mate, if all the treasures of all the world are to be sought out for you——
Nourmahal. It is nothing, nothing, if you must have another wife, if you must have two other wives, three.
King Nasrulla. My prime minister will choose the others. I choose you.
Nourmahal (passionately). But what shall we ever choose again—and get what we choose? Have not the hours been counted out for us from the beginning of the world? Can we stop the grains of sand in the hour-glass?
King Nasrulla. Each one will make a new pleasure as it falls.
Nourmahal. Yes, but it falls. We do not gather it up. It falls out of the heavens as the rain comes. We cannot make it rain.
King Nasrulla. But the drops are always pleasant.
Nourmahal. Yes, like a cup of water to a prisoner who dies of thirst and cannot know when his jailer comes. If we could bring the clouds up over the sun when the hot dust is flying, it would be really pleasant, but