SHUMAKIM: 
    What?  The mighty one who hides behind the curtain there,
      and tells his secrets to Rezon?  No doubt he will take
      care of you, and of himself.  Whatever game is played,
      the gods never lose.  But for the protection of the
      common people and the rest of us fools, I would rather
      have Naaman at the head of an army than all the sacred
      images between here and Babylon.

KHAMMA: 
    You are a wicked old man.  You mock the god.  He will
      punish you.

SHUMAKIM:  [Bitterly.]
    How can he punish me?  Has he not already made me a fool? 
      Hark, here comes my brother the High Priest, and my
      brother the King.  Rimmon made us all; but nobody knows
      who made Rimmon, except the High Priest; and he will
      never tell.

[Gongs and cymbals sound.  Enter REZON with priests, and the
 King with courtiers.  They take their seats.  A throng of Khali and Kharimati come in, TSARPI presiding; a sacred dance is performed with torches, burning incense, and chanting, in which TSARPI leads.]

CHANT

   Hail, mighty Rimmon, ruler of the whirl-storm,
    Hail, shaker of mountains, breaker-down of forests,
    Hail, thou who roarest terribly in the darkness,
    Hail, thou whose arrows flame across the heavens! 
    Hail, great destroyer, lord of flood and tempest,
    In thine anger almighty, in thy wrath eternal,
    Thou who delightest in ruin, maker of desolations,
    Immeru, Addu, Berku, Rimmon! 
    See we tremble before thee, low we bow at thine altar,
    Have mercy upon us, be favourable unto us,
    Save us from our enemy, accept our sacrifice,
    Barku, Immeru, Addu, Rimmon!

        [Silence follows, all bowing down.]

REZON: 
    O King, last night the counsel from above
    Was given in answer to our divination. 
    Ambassadors must go forthwith to crave
    Assyria’s pardon, and a second offer
    Of the same terms of peace we did reject
    Not long ago.

BENHADAD: 
                  Dishonour!  Yet I see
    No other way!  Assyria will refuse,
    Or make still harder terms.  Disaster, shame
    For this gray head, and ruin for Damascus!

REZON: 
    Yet may we trust Rimmon will favour us,
    If we adhere devoutly to his worship. 
    He will incline his brother-god, the Bull,
    To spare us, if we supplicate him now
    With costly gifts.  Therefore I have prepared
    A sacrifice:  Rimmon shall be well pleased
    With the red blood that bathes his knees to-night!

BENHADAD: 
    My mind is dark with doubt,—­I do forebode
    Some horror!  Let me go,—­I am an old man,—­
    If Naaman my captain were alive! 
    But he is dead,—­the glory is departed!

[He rises, trembling, to leave the throne.  Trumpet
sounds,—­NAAMAN’S call;—­enter NAAMAN, followed
by soldiers; he kneels at the foot of the throne.]