This text was obtained via automated optical character recognition.
It has not been edited and may therefore contain several errors.

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HAGAR
Go Back! How dare you follow me beyond The door of ray poor tent? Are you afraid That I have stolen something? See! my hands Are empty, like my heart. I am no thief!
The bracelets and the golden finger rings And silver anklets that you gave to me,
I cast upon the mat before my door,
And trod upon them. I would scorn to take One trinket with me in my banishment That would recall a look or tone of yours.
My lord, my generous lord, who sent me forth,
A loving woman, with a loaf of bread And jug of water on my shoulder laid,
To thirst and hunger in the wilderness!
Go Back! Go back to Sara! See! she stands Watching us there, behind the flowering date,
With jealous eyes, lest my poor hands should steal One farewell touch from yours. Go back to her,
And say that Hagar has a heart as proud,
If not so cold, as hers; and, though it break It breaks without the sound of sobs, without The balm of tears to ease its pain. It breaks-It breaks, my lord, like iron; hard, but clean;
And breaking, asks no pity. If my lips Should let one plea for mercy slip between These words that lash you with a woman's scorn,
My teeth should bite them off, and I would spit Them at you, laughing, though all red and warm with blood. "Cease!" do you say? No, by the gods Of Egypt, I do swear that if my eyes Should let one tear melt through their burning lids,
My hands should pluck them out; and if these hands, Groping outstretched in blindness, should by chance Touch yours and cling to them against my will,
My Ishmael should cut them off, and, blind and maimed, my little son should lead me forth Into the wilderness to die. Go Back!