[The moon rises. A step is heard without.
Several Pots.
Hark, there’s the potter! Can’t you hear his boots creaking?
Enter Potter from tavern.
Potter.
[Crossly.] Shut up in there, or I’ll break some of you.
[The pots tremble and are silent.
Potter.
[Seeing Omar.] Hullo. Come out of that. You’re in my ditch. [Lifts him into sitting posture by the collar.]
Omar.