SIMON. 
Swift are the blessed Immortals to the mortal
That perseveres!  So doth it stand recorded
In the divine Chaldaean Oracles
Of Zoroaster, once Ezekiel’s slave,
Who in his native East betook himself
To lonely meditation, and the writing
On the dried skins of oxen the Twelve Books
Of the Avesta and the Oracles! 
Therefore I persevere; and I have brought thee
From the great city of Tyre, where men deride
The things they comprehend not, to this plain
Of Esdraelon, in the Hebrew tongue
Called Armageddon, and this town of Endor,
Where men believe; where all the air is full
Of marvellous traditions, and the Enchantress
That summoned up the ghost of Samuel
Is still remembered.  Thou hast seen the land;
Is it not fair to look on?

HELEN. 
                        It is fair,
Yet not so fair as Tyre.

SIMON. 
                    Is not Mount Tabor
As beautiful as Carmel by the Sea?

HELEN. 
It is too silent and too solitary;
I miss the tumult of the street; the sounds
Of traffic, and the going to and fro
Of people in gay attire, with cloaks of purple,
And gold and silver jewelry!

SIMON. 
                            Inventions
Of Abriman, the spirit of the dark,
The Evil Spirit!

HELEN. 
                 I regret the gossip
Of friends and neighbors at the open door
On summer nights.

SIMON. 
              An idle waste of time.

HELEN. 
The singing and the dancing, the delight
Of music and of motion.  Woe is me,
To give up all these pleasures, and to lead
The life we lead!

SIMON. 
            Thou canst not raise thyself
Up to the level of my higher thought,
And though possessing thee, I still remain
Apart from thee, and with thee, am alone
In my high dreams.

HELEN. 
              Happier was I in Tyre. 
Oh, I remember how the gallant ships
Came sailing in, with ivory, gold, and silver,
And apes and peacocks; and the singing sailors,
And the gay captains with their silken dresses,
Smelling of aloes, myrrh, and cinnamon!

SIMON. 
But the dishonor, Helen!  Let the ships
Of Tarshish howl for that!

HELEN. 
                  And what dishonor? 
Remember Rahab, and how she became
The ancestress of the great Psalmist David;
And wherefore should not I, Helen of Tyre,
Attain like honor?

SIMON. 
                Thou art Helen of Tyre,
And hast been Helen of Troy, and hast been Rahab,
The Queen of Sheha, and Semiramis,
And Sara of seven husbands, and Jezebel,
And other women of the like allurements;
And now thou art Minerva, the first Aeon,
The Mother of Angels!

HELEN. 
                  And the concubine
Of Simon the Magician!  Is it honor
For one who has been all these noble dames,
To tramp about the dirty villages
And cities of Samaria with a juggler? 
A charmer of serpents?