NAAMAN:  [Kneeling]
        Where is my King? 
  Master, the bearer of thy sword returns. 
  The golden yoke thou gavest me I broke
  On him who sent it.  Asshur’s Bull hath fled
  Dehorned.  The standards of his host are thine! 
  Damascus is all thine, at peace, and free!

BENHADAD:  [Holding out his arms.]
  Thou art a mighty man of valour!  Come,
  And let me fold thy courage to my heart.

REZON:  [Lifting his rod.]
  Forbear, O King!  Stand back from him, all men! 
  By the great name of Rimmon I proclaim
  This man a leper!  On his brow I see
  The death-white seal, the finger-print of doom! 
  That tiny spot will spread, eating his flesh,
  Gnawing his fingers bone from bone, until
  The impious heart that dared defy the gods
  Dissolves in the slow death which now begins. 
  Unclean! unclean!  Henceforward he is dead: 
  No human hand shall touch him, and no home
  Of men shall give him shelter.  He shall walk
  Only with corpses of the selfsame death
  Down the long path to a forgotten tomb. 
  Avoid, depart, I do adjure you all,
  Leave him to god,—­the leper Naaman!

[All shrink back horrified.  REZON retires into the temple; the crowd melts away, wailing:  TSARPI is among the first to go, followed by her attendants, except RUAHMAH, who crouches, with her face covered, not far from NAAMAN.]

BENHADAD:  [Lingering and turning back.]
  Alas, my son!  O Naaman, my son! 
  Why did I let thee go?  Thou art cast out
  Irrevocably from the city’s life
  Which thou hast saved.  Who can resist the gods? 
  I must obey the law, and touch thy hand
  Never again.  Yet none shall take from thee
  Thy glorious title, captain of my host! 
  I will provide for thee, and thou shalt dwell
  With guards of honour in a house of mine
  Always.  Damascus never shall forget
  What thou hast done!  O miserable words
  Of crowned impotence!  O mockery of power
  Given to kings, who cannot even defend
  Their dearest from the secret wrath of heaven! 
  Naaman, my son, my son! [Exit.]

NAAMAN:  [Slowly, passing his hand over his eyes, and looking up.]
          Am I alone
  With thee, inexorable one, whose pride
  Offended takes this horrible revenge? 
  I must submit my mortal flesh to thee,
  Almighty, but I will not call thee god! 
  Yet thou hast found the way to wound my soul
  Most deeply through the flesh; and I must find
  The way to let my wounded soul escape!

[Drawing his sword.]

  Come, my last friend, thou art more merciful
  Than Rimmon.  Why should I endure the doom
  He sends me?  Irretrievably cut off
  From all dear intercourse of human love,
  From all the tender touch of human hands,
  From all brave comradeship with brother-men,
  With eyes that see no faces through this dark,
  With ears that hear all voices far away,
  Why should I cling to misery, and grope
  My long, long way from pain to pain, alone?