Fam. And you will help me do it.
Mas. Well, when I want to die. You're mad.
We're all
Sprats in a net. You'll not get out, once let
The master see you. Better hide those eyes——
Yso. [Running and catching Masio by the shoulder]
You lied to me! You lied! They've got my Grija!
Down in the lower yard!
Grija. [Entering and making his way to her] No! Here I am.
Safe in, old tear-box.
Yso. Holy Mary! [Tells her beads rapidly as he leads her aside]
Fam. [Aroused] Men!
If Osa looked from yonder mountain scarp,
Would she descend to lead such currish hearts
To liberty?
Gon. We are not dogs.
Fam. Then shame
To bear the life of dogs!
Ben. What do you know
Of Osa?
Fam. Know? Does she not guard the shrine
Cherished ten centuries in your secret hills?
Priestess and princess, daughter of your kings,—
The ancient poet kings who ruled and sang
In palaces where now your huddled huts
Give you a slave's foul shelter!