“Zainab.—Uncover your breasts a minute, O ye tear-shedding people, for it is time to beat the drum, seeing the king is going to ride. O Solomon the Prophet, where is thy glory? what has become of thy pompous retinue? Where are thy brothers, nephews, and companions?
“Husain.—There are none left to help me. My sister Zainab holds the bridle of the horse, and walks before me. Who ever saw a lady acting thus?
“Zainab.—Thou art going all alone! May the souls of all be a ransom for thee! and may thy departure make souls quit their bodies! A resurrection will be produced in thy tent by the cry of orphans and widows.
“Husain.—Sister, though it grieves me to go, yet I do it; peradventure I may see the face of Ashgar and the countenance of Akbar, those cypresses, those roses of Paradise.
“Zainab.—Would to God Zainab had died this very minute before thy face, in thy sight, that she might not behold such elegant bodies, such beautiful forms, rolling in their own blood!
“Husain.—O poor sister, if thou die here in this land in that sudden way that thou desirest, then who will ride in thy stead, in the city of Kúfah, on the camel’s back?
“Zainab.—Slight not my pain, dear brother, for Zainab is somewhat alarmed as to the import of thy speech. What shall I do with thy family—with the poor widows and young children?
“Husain.—O afflicted one, it is decreed I should be killed by means of daggers and swords; henceforth, dear sister, thou shalt not see me. Behold, this is separation between me and thee!
“The nephew of Husain.—Dear uncle, thou hast resolved to journey. Thou art going once again to make me an orphan. To whom else wilt thou entrust us? Who is expected to take care of us? Thou wast, dear uncle, instead of my father Hasan, a defence to this helpless exiled creature.
“Husain.—Sorrow not, thou faithful child, thou shalt be killed too in this plain of trials. Return thou now to thy tent in peace, without grieving my soul any further, poor orphan!