SCENE VIII

Adam and Eve.

Adam. These sacrificings, O my best beloved, These rites and forms which you have taught our boys. Which I nor practise nor can understand, Will turn, I trust, to good; but I much fear. Besides the superstitious search of signs In merest accidents of earth and air, They cause, I think, a sort of jealousy Ill-blood. Hark, now!

Eve. O God, whose cry is that? Abel, where is my Abel?

Adam. Cain, what Cain!