Happy shall we be, chaff blown by the breeze;

Kindred to none, and by none made welcome;

For through the ages our path leads unerringly,

To the goal of our desire,

Jerusalem!

[A few Chaldeans, among them a captain, have come out from the palace. Some of them are half drunk. Their voices sound shrill in contrast with the chanting of the wanderers]

The Captain

The dogs are mutinous. They murmur against their fate. Beat them with rods if they refuse to go.

A Chaldean

Look, Captain, they have not waited for an order. There is no sign of mutiny.