Of the world's secret, since the birth of time,
—No kindred slips, no offsets from thy stock,
No spawn of Christians are we, Prefect, we
Who rise ...
Ay. Who shout ...
Ragh. Who seize, a first-fruits, ha—
Spoil of the spoiler! Brave!
[They begin to tear down, and to dispute for, the decorations of the hall.
Kar. Hold!