[She falls on her knees before him.]
With this request, lest I should see thy laughter
Upon such madness ... yet thou doest it,
Thou doest it! O thou! Thou good, good man!
[He raises her gently, she stands bewildered.]
Merchant (turns away).
When wilt thou go?
Sobeide.
This very instant, now!
O be not angry, think not ill of me!
Consider: can I tarry in thy house,
A stranger's house this night? Must I not go
At once to him, since I belong to him?
How may his property this night inhabit
An alien house, as it were masterless?
Merchant (bitterly).
Already his?
Sobeide.
Why sir, a proper woman
Is never masterless: for from her father
Her husband takes her, she belongs to him,
Be he alive or resting in the earth.
Her next and latest master—that is Death.
Merchant.
Then wilt thou not, at least till break of day,
Return to rest at home?
Sobeide.
No, no, my friend.
All that is past. My road, once and for all,
Is not the common one, this hour divides
Me altogether from all maiden ways.
So let me walk it to its very end
In this one night, that in a later day
All this be like a dream, nor I have need
To feel ashamed.
Merchant.
Then go!