Oh, Sarah, Sarah! What are you doing with me? Consider, Sarah,—consider you all. Have I not given everything away to you? I have nothing left. Have pity on me even as I had pity on you,—and kill my unnecessary body with stones. I love you—and words of anger are powerless upon my lips, and wrath upon loving lips does not frighten you—have pity on me. I have nothing more. I have a little blood in my veins, but would I not give away the last drop of it, if I could only quench your bitter thirst? Like a sponge I would have squeezed my heart between the palms of my hands—and the cunning heart, so greedy for life, would not dare hide a single drop....
Be tears his clothes and scratches his chest with his nails.
Here my blood is flowing—my blood is flowing? has a single one of you smiled a smile of joy? Here I am tearing the hair of my beard and I fling the grey locks—I fling them at your feet—has a single dead person risen? Here I spit into your eyes—will one blind man regain his sight? Here I bite the rocks—the rocks—like a mad beast—will one hungry person be satiated? Here I hurl myself at you—
Be makes several quick steps, and the crowd retreats in horror.
ANATHEMA.
That's right, David! Strike them!
SARAH.
Retreating.
Oh, do not punish us, David.
WANDERER.