So, to better his tongue, a rope was bent
Beneath his oxters, up he was hauled, and fire
Let singe the soles of his feet, until his legs
Wriggled like frying eels; then the king's dogs
Were set to hunt the hirpling man. The king
Laught greatly and cried, 'But give the dogs words they know,
And they'll be tame.'--Have you the Indian speech?
Thomas:
Not yet: it will be given me, I trust.
Captain:
You'd best make sure of the gift. Another stranger,
Who swore he knew of better gods than ours,
Seemed to the king troubled with fleas, and slaves
Were told to groom him smartly, which they did
Thoroughly with steel combs, until at last
They curried the living flesh from off his bones
And stript his face of gristle, till he was
Skull and half skeleton and yet alive.
You're not for dealing in new gods?
Thomas:
Not I.
Was the man killed?
Captain:
He lived a little while;
But the flies killed him.
Thomas:
Flies? I hope India
Is not a fly-plagued land? I abhor flies.
Captain:
You will see strange ones, for our Indian life
Hath wonderful fierce breeding.
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