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sc. ii.]
the emperor julian.
309
Phocion.
The Galileans, sire! They have them!
Publia.
Hilarion!
Phocion.
They have them! I hear the fetters
Julian.
Pass them by!
Eunapius.
[Hastening through the press.] We have succeeded marvellously, sire.
Julian.
Who are they, these ruffians?
Eunapius.
Some of them belong to this city; but most, it seems, are peasants fleeing from Cappadocia.
Julian.
I will not see them. Forward, as I commanded!
The Prisoners' Song.
[Nearer.
Blissful our crowning with martyrdom's jewel;
Blissful our meeting with saints gone before.
Julian.
The madmen. Not so near to me! My guard, my guard!
[The two processions have meanwhile encountered
each other in the crush. The
