[5]

Vashti

Oh, Zethar, do you think this night will end

The revels that dishonor Persia's king?

To-day unknown I strolled through squalid parts

Of this old city and observed the poor.

My lord, unmindful of their misery,

Has laid a heavy tax for his insane

Extravagance upon the helpless child

That begs in Shushan's streets. Not here alone,

This suffering; but Persia's peasantry,

The glory of the old empire, the heart

That once defied the world, is broken on

The wheel of tax. And all for what?

Zethar

O queen,

Always the world has had its poverty.

You shall forget the poor. One stoop of wine

Will bring you happiness. Vashti, drink.

Vashti

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