PILATE. Yes, you may have him when the guards give leave. Wait. In a case like this, men may believe That the dead master is not really dead. This preaching man, this King, has been the head Of men who may be good and mean no harm, Whose tenets, none the less, have caused alarm First to the priests, and through the priests to me. I wish this preacher's followers to see That teaching of the kind is to be curbed. I mean, established truths may be disturbed, But not the Jews, nor Rome. You understand? JOSEPH. I follow; yes. PILATE. A riot might be fanned, Such things have been, over the martyr's grave. JOSEPH. His broken corpse is all his followers crave. PILATE. Why, very well then. JOSEPH. Will you give your seal? PILATE. My seal? What for? JOSEPH. That I may show the guard And have the body. PILATE. Gladly; but I feel... Not yet; not until dark. JOSEPH. It will be hard To bury him to-night ... the feast begins. PILATE. I know, but still, when men are crucified... JOSEPH. There is no hope of that. The man has died. PILATE. Died? Dead already? JOSEPH. Yes. PILATE. 'Tis passing soon. JOSEPH. God broke that bright soul's body as a boon. He died at the ninth hour. PILATE. Are you sure? JOSEPH. I saw him, Lord. PILATE. I thought he would endure Longer than that; he had a constant mind. JOSEPH. The great soul burns the body to a rind. PILATE. But dead, already; strange. [_Calling._] You in the court, Send me Longinus here with his report. A VOICE. I will, my lord. PILATE. This teacher was your friend? JOSEPH. Was, is, and will be, till the great world end; Which God grant may be soon. PILATE. I disagree With teachers of new truth. For men like me There is but one religion, which is Rome. No easy one to practise, far from home. You come from Ramah? JOSEPH. Yes. PILATE. What chance is there Of olives being good? JOSEPH. They should be fair. PILATE. You will not use Italian presses? No? JOSEPH. Man likes his own, my lord, however slow; What the land made, we say, it ought to use. PILATE. Your presses waste; oil is too good to lose. But I shall not persuade. SERVANT. Longinus, Lord. PILATE. Make your report, centurion. Where's your sword? What makes you come thus jangled? Are you ill? LONGINUS. There was a shock of earthquake up the hill. I have been shaken. I had meant to come Before; but I was whirled ... was stricken dumb. I left my sword within.... PILATE. Leave it. Attend. Is the man, Jesus, dead? This is his friend Who wants to bury him, he says he is. LONGINUS. Jesus is out of all his miseries. Yes, he is dead, my lord. PILATE. Already? LONGINUS. Yes. The men who suffer most endure the less. He died without our help. JOSEPH. Then may I have His body, Lord, to lay it in the grave? PILATE. A sentry's there?