I know that better than you e’er could know’t; I’ve dragged them in; full many a one, myself. For ’twas so crass, this outbreak, so wrong-headed, That every man who did not bend his thoughts To hang himself was bound to stem its current. You know I have no heartfelt love for Herod However low I set my back a-bobbing-- But he has right in this--the Romans are Too mighty for our strength, we are no more Than a mere insect in the lion’s gullet. It cannot sting him, for it’s gulped and gone. SILO. I’m only sorry for my gardener’s son Who threw a stone against the Roman Eagle And had the ill success to hit his mark. JUDAS. How old is he? SILO. Let’s see! How long is it From when I broke my foot? He was born then. I know it since his mother could not nurse me. Yes, that’s right! Twenty! JUDAS. Then he suffers naught. [MARIAMNE _and_ ALEXANDRA _appear_. The Queen! [_Is about to go._ SILO. What do you mean by that? A word more! JUDAS. Good; but between ourselves! Because he’s twenty He suffers naught. But if he were nineteen Or one-and-twenty ’twould befall him ill. Next year the case is altered. SILO. Cease your jest! JUDAS. I tell you it is thus, and if you’ll know The why, because the King’s self has a son Of twenty years, and yet he knows him not. The mother took the child when he forsook her By stealth away and swore a solemn oath She would corrupt it---- SILO. Oh, the hideous woman! A heathen! JUDAS. Likely so; but I know not-- Corrupt it so that he’d be forced to kill it. But to my mind it was a frenzy-freak That spumed away with the first foaming rage; But still it pricks his peace, and no death-sentence Has ever been fulfilled on any person Whose years have tallied with his own son’s age. Comfort your gardener, but--between ourselves! [_They disappear among the others._ SCENE 5 MARIAMNE, ALEXANDRA, _who appear in the foreground_. ALEX. And so you’ll not take refuge with the Romans? MAR. With what intent? ALEX. Why, to have life in safety. MAR. Life? Surely so. One must have that in safety, For Pain would have no sting if robbed of that. ALEX. Then give at least the hour its meed of right. You give a feast; then show to all your friends A face all festal-fair as is but meet. MAR. I am no pipe to play on and no candle, Not made for sounding and not made for lighting. Then take me as I am. No, do it not! Drive me to have my own neck’s cleaver whetted-- What idle words! Drive me to share your joyance. Soemus, come!