Ion. Lay not hands upon me,—I am no slave! One more appeal: May a son look once more upon his father ere death parts them forever? May I but for an hour speak with Cleon?
Moh'd. Once more thou mayst look upon the rebel Greek. When he hangs from yonder battlement thou mayst gaze unbidden as thou will. Away! With to-morrow's sun, he dies.
Ion. So soon, O king!—nay, the son of Cleon kneels not to thee again [turns to go].
Moh'd. Stay,—yield up thy sword! Bend thy proud knee, and surrender unto me the arms thou art unworthy now to bear.
Ion [drawing his sword]. This, my sword, girded on by a mother's hand, pledged to the deliverance of a captive sire, dedicated to the service of my country, unstained, unconquered,—thus do I surrender thee. [He breaks the sword, and flings it down.]
Moh'd. Again dost thou brave me! Away with the rebel! Bind him hand and foot. He shall learn what it is to be Mohammed's slave. Hence, I say!
Ion. I am thy captive, but thy slave—never! Thou mayst chain my limbs, thou canst not bind my freeborn soul! Lead on,—I follow.
[Exit Ion and guards.
CURTAIN.