Flying from her loathed father. O, that slave
Has hammered from the anvil of her beauty
A steel to break his manacles: hard for us
Moses has made him overseer. O, his slits
Pry—pry.... For what?... To sell to Imra....
[Abinoah is seen approaching.]
Sh! The thin-lipped abomination!
Zig-zagging haschish tours in a fine style:
It were delightful labour making bricks,
Knowing they would kiss friendly with his head.