SALADIN. Take her, or not, I stir the piece no more. SITTAH. Why should I take her? Check! SALADIN. Go on. SITTAH. Check!— SALADIN. And check-mate? SITTAH. Hold! not yet. You may advance the knight, and ward the danger, Or as you will—it is all one. SALADIN. It is so. You are the winner, and Al-Hafi pays. Let him be called. Sittah, you was not wrong; I seem to recollect I was unmindful— A little absent. One isn’t always willing To dwell upon some shapeless bits of wood Coupled with no idea. Yet the Imam, When I play with him, bends with such abstraction— The loser seeks excuses. Sittah, ’twas not The shapeless men, and the unmeaning squares, That made me heedless—your dexterity, Your calm sharp eye. SITTAH. And what of that, good brother, Is that to be th’ excuse for your defeat? Enough—you played more absently than I. SALADIN. Than you! What dwells upon your mind, my Sittah? Not your own cares, I doubt— SITTAH. O Saladin, When shall we play again so constantly? SALADIN. An interruption will but whet our zeal. You think of the campaign. Well, let it come. It was not I who first unsheathed the sword. I would have willingly prolonged the truce, And willingly have knit a closer bond, A lasting one—have given to my Sittah A husband worthy of her, Richard’s brother. SITTAH. You love to talk of Richard. SALADIN. Richard’s sister Might then have been allotted to our Melek. O what a house that would have formed—the first— The best—and what is more—of earth the happiest! You know I am not loth to praise myself; Why should I?—Of my friends am I not worthy? O we had then led lives! SITTAH.