Had I not dealt so sternly with his soul
In its deep anguish——What! he wears their garb
I’ the face of heaven? You saw the turban on him?
You should have struck him to the earth, and so
Put out our shame for ever!
Gas. Lift my sword
Against your father’s son!
Rai. My father’s son!
Ay, and so loved!—that yearning love for him
Was the last thing death conquer’d! See’st thou there?