Sobeide.
I give thee pain?
[Merchant turns away.]
Permit a single draught from yonder goblet.
Merchant.
It was my mother's, take it to thyself.
Sobeide.
I cannot. Lord. But let me drink from it.
[Drinks.]
Merchant.
Drain this, and never mayst thou need in life
To quench thy thirst with wine from any goblet
Less pure than that.
Sobeide.
Farewell.
Merchant.
Farewell.
[She is already on the threshold.]