What good shall come forswearing kith and God,
To follow the allarements of the heart ?
CLAIRE.
Duty wears one face, but a thousand masks.
Thy feet she leads to glittering peaks, while mine
She guides midst brambled roadways. Not the first
Art thou of Israel's women, chosen of God,
To rule o'er rulers. I remember me
A verse my father often would repeat
Out of our sacred Talmud : '^ Every time
The sun, moon, stars begin again their course.
They hesitate, trembling and filled with shame.
Blush at the blasphemous worship offered them.
And each time God's voice thunders, crying out,
On with your duty ! "
Enter Beuben.
REUBEN.
Sister, we are lost !
The streets are thronged with panic-stricken folk.
Wild rumors fill the air. Two of our tribe,
Young Mordecai, as I hear, and old Baruch,
Seized by the mob, were dragged towards Eisenach,
Cruelly used, left to bleed out their lives,
In the wayside ditch at night. This morn, betimes.
