Israel
    To serve the heathen in a land of lies? 
    Ah, treacherous, shameful priest!  Ah, shameless wife
    Of one too noble to suspect thy guilt! 
    The very greatness of his generous heart
    Betrays him to their hands.  What can I do! 
    Nothing,—­a slave,—­hated and mocked by all
    My fellow-slaves!  O bitter prison-life! 
    I smother in this black, betraying air
    Of lust and luxury; I faint beneath
    The shadow of this House of Rimmon.  God
    Have mercy!  Lead me out to Israel. 
    To Israel!

[Music and laughter heard within the palace.  The
doors fly open and a flood of men and women,
dancers, players, flushed with wine, dishevelled,
pour down the steps, KHAMMA and NUBTA with them. 
They crown the image with roses and dance around
it.  RUAHMAH is discovered crouching beside the
arbour.  They drag her out beside the image.]

NUBTA: 
                Look!  Here’s the Hebrew maid,—­
    She’s homesick; let us comfort her!

KHAMMA:  [They put their arms around her.]
    Yes, dancing is the cure for homesickness. 
    We’ll make her dance.

RUAHMAH:  [She slips away.]
                          I pray you, let me go! 
    I cannot dance, I do not know your measures.

KHAMMA: 
    Then sing for us,—­a song of Israel!

RUAHMAH: 
    How can I sing the songs of Israel
    In this strange country?  O my heart would break!

A SERVANT: 
    A stubborn and unfriendly maid!  We’ll whip her.

[They circle around her, striking her with
rose-branches; she sinks to her knees, covering
her face with her bare arms, which bleed.]

NUBTA: 
    Look, look!  She kneels to Rimmon, she is tamed.

RUAHMAH:  [Springing up and lifting her arms.]
    Nay, not to this dumb idol, but to Him
    Who made Orion and the seven stars!

ALL: 
    She raves,—­she mocks at Rimmon!  Punish her! 
    The fountain!  Wash her blasphemy away!

[They push her toward the fountain, laughing and
shouting.  In the open door of the palace NAAMAN
appears, dressed in blue and silver, bareheaded
and unarmed.  He comes to the top of the steps
and stands for a moment, astonished and angry.]

NAAMAN: 
    Silence!  What drunken rout is this?  Begone,
    Ye barking dogs and mewing cats!  Out, all! 
    Poor child, what have they done to thee?

[Exeunt all except RUAHMAH, who stands with her
face covered by her hands.  NAAMAN comes to her,
laying his hand on her shoulder.]

RUAHMAH:  [Looking up in his face.]
                                              Nothing,
    My lord and master!  They have harmed me not.

NAAMAN:  [Touching her arm.]
    Dost call this nothing?

RUAHMAH: 
                            Since my lord is come!