Not yet: it will be given me, I trust.
Captain:
You'd best make sure of the gift. Another stranger,
Who swore he knew of better gods than ours,
Seemed to the king troubled with fleas, and slaves
Were told to groom him smartly, which they did
Thoroughly with steel combs, until at last
They curried the living flesh from off his bones
And stript his face of gristle, till he was
Skull and half skeleton and yet alive.
You're not for dealing in new gods?
Thomas:
Not I.
Was the man killed?
Captain:
He lived a little while;
But the flies killed him.
Thomas:
Flies? I hope India
Is not a fly-plagued land? I abhor flies.
Captain: