Tsarpi: 
  I think I hate him too.  He stands apart
  From me, ev’n while he holds me in his arms,
  By something that I cannot understand,
  Nor supple to my will, nor melt with tears,
  Nor quite dissolve with blandishments, although
  He swears he loves his wife next to his honour! 
  Next?  That’s too low!  I will be first or nothing.

Rezon: 
  With me you are the first, the absolute! 
  When you and I have triumphed you shall reign;
  And you and I will bring this hero down.

Tsarpi: 
  But how?  For he is strong.

Rezon: 
        By these, the eyes
  Of Tsarpi; and by this, the rod of Rimmon.

Tsarpi: 
  Speak clearly; tell your plan.

Rezon: 
        You know the host
  Of the Assyrian king has broken forth
  Again to conquer us.  Envoys have come
  From Shalmaneser to demand surrender. 
  Our king Benhadad wavers, for he knows
  His weakness.  All the nobles, all the rich,
  Would purchase peace that they may grow more rich: 
  Only the people and the soldiers, led
  By Naaman, would fight for liberty. 
  Blind fools!  To-day the envoys came to pay
  Their worship to our god, whom they adore
  In Nineveh as Asshur’s brother-god. 
  They talked with me in secret.  Promises,
  Great promises!  For every noble house
  That urges peace, a noble recompense: 
  The king, submissive, kept in royal state
  And splendour:  most of all, honour and wealth
  Shall crown the House of Rimmon, and his priest,—­
  Yea, and his priestess.  For we two will rise
  Upon the city’s fall.  The common folk
  Shall suffer; Naaman shall sink with them
  In wreck; but I shall rise, and you shall rise
  Above me!  You shall climb, through incense-smoke,
  And days of pomp, and nights of revelry,
  Glorious rites and ecstasies of love,
  Unto the topmost room in Rimmon’s tower,
  The secret, lofty room, the couch of bliss,
  And the divine embraces of the god.

Tsarpi:  [Throwing out her arms in exultation.]
  All, all I wish!  What must I do for this?

Rezon: 
  Turn Naaman away from thoughts of war;
  Or purchase him with love’s delights to yield
  This point,—­I care not how,—­and afterwards
  The future shall be ours.

Tsarpi: 
        And if I fail?

Rezon: 
  I have another shaft.  The last appeal,
  Before the king decides, is to the oracle
  Of Rimmon.  You shall read the signs! 
  A former priestess of his temple, you
  Shall be the interpreter of heaven, and speak
  A word to melt this brazen soldier’s heart
  Within his breast.

Tsarpi: 
        But if it flame instead?