The holidaying humour of the crowd! [All watch with deepest interest, some hoping the Friend will fail, others in sympathy with him.]
The Friend.
[To the Slaves.]
Friends, brothers, weary are ye? Sit, then! [This provokes a murmur of incredulity from the Slaves.]
Come,
Your welcome gather from the kindly looks
Of these, the city fathers! Hungry, ye?
Athirst?... Here’s bread ... and fruit, and wine ...
And gentle hands to minister!
[The Slaves sit, and the Friend signs to the Holiday-makers who, obeying, hasten to open their baskets, and bring forth their stores, waiting with kindest solicitude on their wants.]