Your world—all yours! (Fiercely.) But I will not be made
A thing to circle with your pomps of death,
Your chains, and guards, and scaffolds! Back! I’ll die
As the free lion dies!
[Drawing his sabre.
Her. What seek’st thou here?
Aym. Naught but to give your Christian swords a deed
Worthier than——Where’s your chief? in the Paynim’s bonds!
Made the wild Arabs’ prize! Ay, heaven is just!
If ye will rescue him, then follow me: