The deed achieved, our Khalif, casting off

The embodied Awe's tremendous mystery,

The weakness of the flesh disguise, resumes

His proper glory, ne'er to fade again.

(Enter a Druse.)

The Druse. Our Prefect lands from Rhodes!—without a sign

That he suspects aught since he left our Isle;

Nor in his train a single guard beyond

The few he sailed with hence: so have we learned

From Loys.