Scene.—Courtyard of the deserted palace of Jamshyd, canopied by that inverted bowl commonly called the sky. To right, a tavern—not deserted. To left, a potter’s house. At back, the grave of Bahrám, whence a sound of snoring proceeds. A wild ass stamps fitfully upon it. It is four o’clock in the morning, and the “false dawn” shows in the sky. In the centre of the stage stand a lion and a lizard, eyeing each other mistrustfully.
Lion.
Look here, do you keep these courts, or do I?
Lizard.
[Resentfully.] I don’t know. I believe we both keep them.
Lion.
[Sarcastically.] Do you? Then I venture to differ from you.
Lizard.
Perhaps you’d rather we took turns?