e her!
Tell her the man of years, upon whose gold
Her husband young so much depends--now mark:
The good old man, say, the decrepit gray-beard--
Desired to see her. Tell her men of years
Are childish, why should this one not be so?
But still a call is little. Tell her this:
It is almost a grave that she would visit,
A grave just barely breathing. Will you do't?

DEBTOR.
I've heard it said that you adore your gold
Like something sacred, and that next to that
You love the countenance of anguished men,
And looks that mirror forth the spirit's pain.
But you are old, have sons, and so I think
These evil sayings false. And therefore I
Will tell her this, and if perchance she asks me,
"What thinkest thou?" then I will say, "My dearest,
Peculiar, but not bad."--Farewell, but pray you,
When your desire is granted, let not mine,
Shalnassar, wait long for its due fulfilment.

[The DEBTOR and the Armenian slave exeunt down
the stairs.]

SHALNASS. (alone, rises, stretches, seems much taller now).
A honeyed fool is that, a sweet-voiced babbler,
"Hear, aged man!"--"I beg you, aged man!"
I've heard men say his wife is beautiful,
And has such fiery color in her hair
That fingers tumbling it feel heat and billows
At once. If she comes not, then she shall learn
To sleep on naked straw....
... 'Twere time to sleep.
They say that convalescents need much sleep.
But if I must be deaf, then I'll be deaf
To wisdom such as this. Sleep is naught other
Than early death. I would enjoy my nights
Together with the days still left to me.
I will be generous, whenas I please:
To Guelistane I Will give more this evening
Than she could dream. And this shall be my pretext
To have her change her room and take a chamber
Both larger and near mine. If she will do't,
Her bath shall be the juice of violets, roses,
Or pinks, and gold and amber she shall quaff,
Until the roof-beams reel in dizzy madness.

[He claps his hands, a slave comes. Exit
l