LONGINUS. The towers bent like moss Under the fiery figures from the sky. Horses were in the air, there came a cry. Jesus was calling God: it struck us dumb. One said "He is calling God. Wait. Will God come? Wait." And we listened in the glare. O sir, He was God's son, that man, that minister, For as he called, fire tore the sky in two, The sick earth shook and tossed the cross askew, The earthquake ran like thunder, the earth's bones Broke, the graves opened, there were falling stones. PILATE. I felt the shock even here. So? LONGINUS. Jesus cried Once more and drooped, I saw that he had died. Lord, in the earthquake God had come for him. The thought of 't shakes me sick, my eyes are dun. PILATE. Tell Scirrus to relieve you. LONGINUS. Lord.... PILATE. Dismiss. Lie down and try to sleep; forget all this. Tell Scirrus I command it. Rest to-night. Go in, Longinus, go. LONGINUS. Thank you, Lord Pilate. [_Exit_ LONGINUS. PILATE [_alone_]. No man can stand an earthquake. Men can bear Tumults of water and of fire and air, But not of earth, man's grave and standing ground; When that begins to heave the will goes round. Longinus, too. [_Noise below._] Listen. Does Herod come? I heard his fifes. _The doors open. _SERVANTS_ enter._ SERVANT. Lord Herod is at hand; Will it please your Lordship robe? PILATE. Sprinkle fresh sand, For blood was shed to-day, here, under foot. [_He robes._] Well, that; the other clasp. [_Music off._] A VOICE. Cohort. Salute. PILATE. Leave torches at the door. Dismiss. [SERVANTS _go._ He comes Welcomed by everyone; the city hums With joy when Herod passes. Ah, not thus Do I go through the town. They welcome us With looks of hate, with mutterings, curses, stones. _Enter_ PROCULA. Come, stand with me. Welcome Lord Herod here. Welcome must make amends for barrack cheer. THE NUBIANS _hold torches at the door._ HEROD _enters._ Come in, good welcome, Herod. PROCULA. Welcome, sir. HEROD. To Rome, to Pilate, and to Beauty, greeting; Give me your hands. What joy is in this meeting. Pilate, again. You, you have hurt your hand? PILATE. It is nothing, sir. HEROD. Beauty has touched this land, A wound has followed. PBOCULA. What you please to call Beauty, my lord, did nothing of the kind. An earthen vessel tilted with a wall. HEROD. May it soon mend. Now let me speak my mind. Pilate, since you have ruled here, there have been Moments of ... discord, shall we say? between Your government and mine. I am afraid That I, the native here, have seldom made Efforts for friendship with you. PILATE. Come.