Hus. These taunts, Semiramis—
Khos. Nay, father, she has cause to use me so.
Sem. Oh, you confess you played with me! Then, heart,
In with thy scorn for this outbraves thy own!
(Turns away, folding her chained hands on her breast, and stands as if she would speak no more)
Hus. You make no suit for mercy?
Sem. (Turning to him) What! from thee?
Who kill your captives ere your tent is struck,
Nor spare a guard to drive them from the field?
Hus. I grant what I would ask—death before serfdom!
You ’d keep them for your dogs and slaves!
Sem. And when
Am I to die? Why breach thy custom now?
Hus. We like your spirit, but push not so far,
Or we shall break the bounds we ’ve set ourselves.
Have you not found us gracious to your rank?
You look not like a prisoner!
Sem. No thanks
For that! This robe and crown, these chains of gold
Are compliments that Husak pays himself,
Proclaiming him a royal victory,
Though not a royal victor!