_John_. Peace I offer— But hence hypocrisy—a heart’s deceit That hopes to hide itself from God, and form An impious league ’twixt penitence and guilt, A league impossible! The wicked, whom His deeds of evil prosper still is wicked If such prosperity he doth not spurn; In his returning nobleness abhorring The good which God gave not. I say to thee, That throned at Herod’s side, even as before, Thou still would’st feed on pride, and evil passions, On hatred and revenge. God’s high decree Is not capricious; this is man’s own nature: Necessity immutable. Amendment There is not for the guilty, if he yet Reject not of his infamy the fruit! _Herodias_. No reformation is there—none—for me! Now know I all. Expect the axe!—He goes Tranquil to death—and I who slay him—tremble! Herodias then instructs her daughter to claim as her promised boon from the King, the head of John. Herod grants it reluctantly, but would stipulate for the safety of Zephora; and is horror struck at the story of her death. Then comes the punishment. The daughter of Herodias is struck dead in her mother’s arms, who reproaches the King as the cause of her crimes and misfortunes. _Herod_. Remove her from the cruel sight. _Herodias_. Back! thine Is yet more horrible than death. Accursed The infamous love which bound us once! Thou, thou Hast on my head heaped up the fearful wrath Of the Most High; hast torn from me my child, My innocent child, whose only guilt it was That I have been her mother. Who impelled me Into such crimes? Who led me to contemn The Eternal? Who inspired the secret hope That earth and heaven contained no God? Ah me Deluded! it was he! _Herod_. Ah—— _Herodias_. Wretch! was’t not Thy part to curb my madness—guard the lives Of John and of Zephora?—to repentance Invite, compel me?—and to sooner rend A thousand times my heart, than immolate All innocence—all justice! _Herod_. I—— _Herodias_. The Book Of Life I see displayed! Lo! with the blood Of John and of Zephora God blots out Eternally my name—and yet another— The name of Herod! _Herod_. This is terror—frenzy! Alas! with her own desperate hands she tears Her streaming hair! Help! help! _Herodias_. Herod! our names The finger of the Lord hath blotted out!