Bus shall have sugar to-morrow! The beast!
The whole cargo on top of me! Ugh, how disgusting!—
Or perhaps it was food! 'Twas in taste—indefinable;
And taste's for the most part a matter of habit.
What thinker is it who somewhere says:
You must spit and trust to the force of habit?—
Now here come the small-fry!
[Hits and slashes around him.
It's really too bad That man, who by rights is the lord of creation, Should find himself forced to! O murder! murder! The old one was bad, but the youngsters are worse!
SCENE FIFTH. Early morning. A stony region, with a view out over the desert. On one side a cleft in the hill, and a cave.
A Thief and a Receiver hidden in the cleft, with the Emperor's horse and robes. The horse, richly caparisoned, is tied to a stone. Horsemen are seen afar off.
The Thief.
The tongues of the lances
All flickering and flashing,—
See, see!
The Receiver.
Already my head seems
To roll on the sand-plain!
Woe, woe!
