Great news, glorious news, the Assyrians are beaten!

SECOND CITIZEN:
Naaman is returning, crowned with victory. Glory to our noble
captain!

THIRD CITIZEN:
No, he is killed. I had it from one of the camp-followers who saw
him fall at the head of the battle. They are bringing his body to
bury it with honour. O sorrowful victory!

RAKHAZ;
Peace, my good fellows, you are ignorant, you have not been rightly
informed, I will misinform you. The accounts of Naaman's death are
overdrawn. He was killed, but his life has been preserved. One of
his wounds was mortal, but the other three were curable, and by
these the physicians have saved him.

SHUMAKIM: [_Balancing himself before RAKHAZ in pretended admiration._]
O wonderful! Most admirable logic! One mortal, and three curable,
therefore he must recover as it were, by three to one. Rakhaz, do
you know that you are a marvelous man?

RAKHAZ:
Yes, I know it, but I make no boast of my knowledge.

SHUMAKIM:
Too modest, for in knowing this you know what is unknown to any other
in Damascus!

[_Enter, from the right, SABALLIDIN in armour: from the left, TSARPI
with her attendants, among whom is RUAHMAH._]

HAZAEL:
Here is Saballidin, we'll question him;
He was enflamed by Naaman's fiery words,
And rode with him to battle. Good, my lord,
We hail you as a herald of the fight
You helped to win. Give us authentic news
Of your great general! Is he safe and well?
When will he come? Or will he come at all?

[_All gather around him, listening eagerly._]

SABALLIDIN:
He comes but now, returning from the field
Where he hath gained a crown of deathless fame!
Three times he led the charge; three times he fell
Wounded, and the Assyrians beat us back.
Yet every wound was but a spur to urge
His valour onward. In the last attack
He rode before us as the crested wave
That heads the flood; and lo, our enemies
Were broken like a dam of river-reeds,
Burst by the torrent, scattered, swept away!
But look! the Assyrian king in wavering flight
Is lodged like driftwood on a little hill,
Encircled by his guard, and stands at bay.
Then Naaman, followed hotly by a score
Of whirlwind riders, hammers through the hedge
Of spearmen, brandishing the golden yoke:
"Take back this gift," he cries; and shatters it
On Shalmaneser's helmet. So the fight
Dissolves in universal rout: the king,
His