ISHAK
Do not tell me that tale.
HASSAN You are a poet. They cut off her lover's head and poured blood upon her eyes!
ISHAK
Be silent. You are full of devils. I tell you, it is not true.
Stop dreaming: look into my eyes: listen!
(Bells are heard without the garden.)
You hear? The camels are being driven to the Gate of the Moon. At midnight starts the great summer caravan for the cities of the Far North East, divine Bokhara and happy Samarkand. It is a desert path as yellow as the bright sea-shore: therefore the Pilgrims call it The Golden Journey.
HASSAN
And what of that to you or me, your Golden Journey to Samarkand?
ISHAK I am leaving this city of slaves, this Bagdad of fornication. I have broken my lute and will write no more qasidahs in praise of the generosity of kings. I will try the barren road, and listen for the voice of the emptiness of earth. And you shall walk beside me.
HASSAN I?
ISHAK
Rise, and confide to me once more the direction of your way.
HASSAN
(Rising with ISHAK's aid) Why save me from a death desired?
What am I to you or to any man living? Why would you force me
like a fate to live?