BARAK. Prince Kalaf? 'tis not possible. He's dead Yet, sure 'tis he-his eyes-his legs-his head, - My Lord KALAF. What-Barak here-alive? BARAK. And kicking. But how escaped you from that fatal licking The Bey of Tefflis gave us all in battle? Your father's troops were slaughtered off like cattle, And you, my Prince, we thought, were slain or taken; So off I fled to save, at least, my bacon. I found a refuge in this queer old city; A widow married...